The Red Letter Box
by Shinrin no Yousei
Summary: Two years after the rebellion Katniss feels more lost and lonely than ever before. She's desperately trying to mend the pile of shards her life has become. Depressed and confused Peeta decided to keep his distance from Katniss. But this decision turns out to be a fatal mistake as it sets in motion a serious turn of events both might never recover from.
1. Sender: Gale Hawthorne

**I. Sender: Gale Hawthorne**

I wake up with a gasp. For a short moment I am disoriented - the bed, the room - everything seems unfamiliar. I think I was dreaming. It wasn't a nightmare, that I am sure of. No, the lingering effects of a dream are still there. I dreamt of home. My old home, in the Seam. From before...before everything really. The dream was vague and I realize I'm not in our small cramped bed together with Prim. I am, in fact, all alone in my huge house in the Victor's Village. It's been two years since the rebellion, since a new era began for Panem. I groan, when the fleeting images of Prim leave my consciousness. It felt so real.

I have a nagging suspicion why I dreamed of the Seam this night.

Today is the 14th of June, Saturday. A train will arrive from District 2. And Gale will be on it.

* * *

A few weeks ago a letter arrived in the letter box. Panem has a functioning postal system now. Gale wrote this letter and it arrived just one day later. Trains are still the main use of transportation in Panem, but the new postal ministry has received two or three hovercrafts from the government. They deliver food, materials and letters.

Letters arrive every week. From my mother, from Annie, Effie, Hazelle, yes even Johanna seems to prefer the written word over phone calls. Even fan mail from the odd dedicated Mockingjay fan sometimes finds its way to my small red letter box. To my own amazement I enjoyed getting all those letters. I became an avid writer of letters then, so they would never stop coming in.

I have a lot of free time. I still hunt, early in the mornings when the day has just arrived and everyone in District Twelve is asleep. When I return, around midday after having lunch in the woods, I usually sit at my desk, take out my fountain pen and put it to paper. Writing fills me with an unknown joy I didn't know I had left in me. I never was a natural talker, but when I write I can think about what I really want to say and the words flow freely. It felt good and even Dr. Aurelius said it seemed to work like therapy for me. I spent most of my free time from afternoon to evening writing letters. I started to collect stationary and I have a huge assortment now with every pattern and color imaginable.

My passion for letter writing didn't go unnoticed and Haymitch proved to be surprisingly thoughtful. He built me the beautiful red letter box for my birthday last year. There is even a small golden Mockingjay figurine adorned at the left side. Haymitch thought it gave the box a personal touch. It was the best present and I nearly started to cry when he gave it to me. It meant a lot. Swearing off the white liquor - it certainly had been the hardest thing for him. I can't see how he managed to do it and finally stopped drinking - but he did it. I feel proud of him. He told me he needed something to keep him occupied though and geese herding just wasn't demanding enough. He tried a lot of things and somehow ended up enjoying carpentry the most.

When I opened up the box at the end of May I didn't expect a letter from Gale. Naturally he had always been on the list of my pen pals. He still is my best friend. But he is also very busy. He works for the new government and in the two years after he moved to Two he only wrote four letters. They weren't very long either. He certainly isn't the letter writing type. I held onto his letters like a lifeline, reread them every other week. They are precious to me.

Sometimes Gale is on TV, when there are programs about politics. Half a year ago when the first official elections took place, he was on TV a lot back then. But I don't like to watch TV. Election period was an important time for Panem so I watched a bit, but I could barely stand ten minutes at a time. TV is hell for me still. I wanted to throw my set out, when I moved back in here, but then I need to be informed, so I couldn't do it.

While Gale doesn't write much, I write weekly. A wide range of topics are covered, but mostly I write about our woods. I always feel a surge of excitement, a small tingle in my stomach when I open my red letter box. I just love to get mail and I grin like a little girl opening a present, giddy with anticipation, every time a letter finds its way into my hands. When I read "Sender: Gale Hawthorne" my heart skipped a beat. It had been five months since his last letter - which was more of a card anyway. I was so happy that he wrote again! As usual his letter was short. Basically telling me he would visit Twelve. Arrive on the 14th of June. If it was possible, could he stay at my house for a while?

I was a bit annoyed, that he didn't offer more of an explanation on why he would want to visit now. How long he planned to stay, what was he planning to do here? Was it to be an official trip for the government? Or just a visit to dear old Catnip, whom he hadn't seen for two long years? He didn't say. Nonetheless I immediately answered that naturally, he was welcome to stay at my house.

* * *

The afternoon sun burns brightly, as I leave my house to walk to the train station. I'm wearing my favourite yellow sundress. _Someone_ once told me I look beautiful in it. I speed up at the thought and quickly leave the Victor's Village behind. I take my usual route passing the other bakery and follow the smaller road instead of the main road which brings me south of the central square of District 12. The justice building was destroyed in the bombing and in its place a new station was built.

The residents of District 12 will vote for a new name for the District in a few weeks. Posters with propositions are glued to the buildings. Obviously most of our residents don't think _Twelve_ is melodic enough. I was even asked to name it by our new Mayor, an elderly man called Garland. I refused, stating it would always be Twelve to me. I knew they were disappointed, but I didn't want to name it. Or be involved in any way in this community. I cannot really tell that to all these kind and well meaning people here, though. People still look up to me, like I'm some kind of leader. They think I am here because this is my home and I returned here because Twelve means something to me. Maybe once it did.

That doesn't change the fact that I was banished to Twelve. Here is the place where I was born and the place I'm going to die. It was made pretty clear to me by the new government that I am exiled. Forever. I thought I made my peace with this fact over a year ago. But I am often angry at Paylor and Plutarch and everyone involved in deciding that Twelve was going to be my home, my sanctuary, as well as my jail.

I can not leave here. I don't even know where else I would go. The only place I kind of considered, in these scenarios in which I am free to do as I please, would be District 4. But then, I don't think I could ever live with my mother again. Even though we're on better terms with each other now. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.

Startled I realize I am already at the station. I'm thirsty and buy a bottle of water at the small store that is next to the station building. Since the Hunger Games I've become famous. I know this. I should be used to the fact. But I hate it. Whenever I interact with people here in Twelve I feel like they are staring, whispering, talking about me. It feels like paranoia. But it isn't, because I don't imagine it happening, it happens. I ignore the curious look from the shop girl, and her cheery "Have a good day, Katniss!" almost makes me want to punch her. I don't know this girl, don't know her name and she talks to me as if she's my friend. It feels weird and uncomfortable. Everyone knows who I am, but they themselves can live an anonymous blissful life. I hate it. I want that life, too. Be a nobody or - at least - blend in.

I sigh as I slide down on one of the brand new white benches on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive. Which it won't for another two hours. I'm too early, but I just couldn't wait to get here. There are a thousand possibilities of what exactly will happen in two hours.

Why is Gale coming back here now? Does he still have feelings for me? My head says, no. He would've come here sooner, he would've written more often, he would've fought for me. Selfishly I hope he might still love me. I was hurt by what he said in Tigris' shop that fateful night. But that wasn't all. He left me here in Twelve without ever considering that I might have wanted him to be here with me. His fancy Capitol job was more important. Maybe he is coming back now to tell me he has moved on. Found another Catnip in District 2.

That doesn't seem to be that far fetched. Gale is older than me, he is good looking, he must long for female companionship. But why did he never offer any insights to his own feelings after the war? If he moved on, he should have told me.

I'm so nervous, I gulp the water down in one go. I'm not sure how I should react to any of these little scenarios. I'll know when I see him. Whatever he wants, it will work out. I've missed him so much, though. We can go hunting early in the morning, if he isn't too busy. Even if he only stays for a few days. I'm so happy that he is really coming. Maybe he will fill up the huge emptiness I am feeling inside.

I'm afraid I'm slowly starting to get seriously depressed again. I talked to Dr. Aurelius on the phone, even wrote him a long letter with my deepest feelings laid bare and open. His reply just said to keep on hunting, keep on writing - continue living. Useless advice. I'm clearly not on top of his priority list anymore. I feel so lonely, it's almost tearing me apart. I just don't see where my life is going. I'm getting older, but I feel like nothing is happening anymore. That I lived my life. That I served my purpose. That I will gradually rot here in Twelve.

A loud signal announces the incoming train. I slowly get up and force myself to smile.

Today is the 14th of June, Saturday. A train will arrive from District 2. And Gale will be on it.

* * *

When Gale pulls me into his arms everything falls into place. He looks the same, but different. His smile is wider and kinder. His laugh is infectious. I can't help but smile back when he smiles at me - and I don't have to force myself.

"Catnip," he whispers as he holds me tightly. "I've missed you." I'm almost crying as I realize that this is the first time in over a year that I have physical contact with another human being, not counting Haymitch and his awkward one armed hug on my birthday. I want to wrap myself around Gale and never let go. Suddenly I don't even care anymore that people are staring at me. Gale has only one backpack for luggage and we walk, arm in arm, back to my house. The sun is setting as we arrive at my door and pass the red letter box.

"Wait a minute," I say as I open the box with a small golden key. "Just checking for mail."

Gale chuckles. "You really love your letters, don't you? I feel bad for never writing."

"Doesn't matter," I answer as I scrunch up the lone pamphlet in my mailbox (Another reminder for the District Name Voting) and throw it into the trash can next to my door. I open the door and beam up at him "You're here, that's all that matters to me now." He smiles.

We get him settled in the guest room, which belonged to my mother once. The room doesn't deserve the name as it has never seen a guest before. Not even the former inhabitant has slept in the big fluffy bed again. I cleaned the room and washed the sheets with an expensive washing mixture from the Capitol. Put a vase with flowers on the nightstand. I knew Gale always liked these small violet ones, when we were in the woods. I made fresh rabbit stew for us and we eat in my kitchen and laugh and talk for hours. He yawns loudly after midnight is long gone.

"I'm sorry. Keeping you awake all night after such a long journey." I laugh. "I just don't have the opportunity to talk much. This is probably the most I have talked for months."

Gale raises his eyebrows. "Is that so?" He frowns. I see that he is weighing his words carefully as he continues on. "You have to know I have been really busy during the last two years. I was able to finally get some vacation. My mother was angry when she heard that I was going on a trip. She thought I would spend the time with her and my siblings. But she seemed happy when I told her where I was going."

I nod. Hazelle was always fond of me and I'm still in contact with her. In fact the main topic of our letters is sitting in my kitchen now looking really handsome. I blush faintly. Did I really think that just now?

"Believe it or not Catnip, you will be able to enjoy my company for two full weeks." Gale continues. "No work for me. We can hunt all day, go swimming or do nothing at all. I've never done _nothing at all_ ever, so I'm curious how that will turn out." He grins.

I feel warmth spread through my whole body. Two weeks with Gale! This summer may turn out to be better than I thought. I'm so relieved. There seem to be no hard feelings between the two of us. Our talk was fun and interesting. Suddenly a feeling overwhelms me, a feeling I thought I lost somewhere in these two years. Like I belong. Safe. Like a part of me has returned. Could it really be? That it was Gale all along? He still has feelings for me? As we make our way up the stairs my thoughts are in turmoil and I feel hot waves running through me. We stop at his door.

"Well, Good night, Catnip," he says slowly. I linger. We are so close. When I'm not moving, he does. Kisses me. Slowly, sensual. I feel the waves turn into shocking arrows. I respond, I can't help it. I'm starving and Gale is like food. He won't let me starve. Never did before. I feel needy and press my body into his. The kiss feels wonderful. I want him. All of him. After what feels like an eternity, we break apart.

"Woah, Katniss," he sighs. "What was that? I think were moving a bit too fast here." I furiously shake my head. This is not a mistake. How can it be when I finally feel _alive_ again? When every waking moment after the rebellion didn't really count as being alive? When I lived in some sort of trance for so long that I sometimes forgot to feed myself?

"No, Gale. This is right. Never did something feel so right to me. I want this. I want you. I want us." And with that I kiss him and press my body into his again. He responds eagerly and I feel his body reacting to mine. It feels amazing to be desired by him. I smile into the kiss when Gale stops once more.

"Listen, I don't want to stop." He groans. "But I also feel like we're moving to fast. I've only been here a few hours. We still have time. Let's wait and see if you still feel like this tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, ok? Please, let's just not rush into this. I want it to mean something."

Count on Gale for being the voice of reason. I nearly would've given in to my cravings without thinking it through. My hormones seem to be off kilter tonight. I agree and we decide to get up at dawn for a long hunting trip to the forest. I give him a short kiss on his cheek and hop into my room. When I close the door I barely make it to the bed and collapse. I feel tired and spent, which is a good feeling tonight. Vainly hoping I might get a good night's rest. I know, I will never spent another night in my life without the nightmares again. I just have learnt to deal with them on my own. My course of action after this evening seems as clear as the liquor Haymitch used to drink. As I slip into sleep my last thought is of Gale and that he might be the one to chase the nightmares away.

* * *

The following two weeks are pure bliss. We hunt, we talk, we swim in the lake. Sometimes Haymitch joins us in the evening for a card game. Him and Gale like each other and always find stuff to talk about, like craft or mutual acquaintances from the rebellion. The days fly by so fast I can't keep up. In fact I'm dreading to look at the calender. Only 14 days. Not nearly enough time to make up for two years. Time never moved so quickly in Twelve.

There is a lot of kissing between us, which I enjoy a lot. I'm ready to commit. Ready to take that next step and I can't wait. I know Gale is trying to buy some time. I can feel his eyes on me, so I know he wants this. The way he talks, the need is hidden in his every word. Every time my hands wander over his body, trying to get to that next level, he gently pushes them away.

I'm getting frustrated and a little scared as the day of his departure draws nearer. We have talked a lot, but there are certain topics he avoids and I'm thankful. I'm sure there is a reason why he won't go any further on a physical level. If I want any progress at all in our relationship, I'll probably have to tell him directly. Talk about everything, expose my feelings. I'm dreading this conversation. I don't want it. Two years and I've become some sort of expert in looking the other way. I had to.

When we trek to the lake one morning I have created a plan to finally get what is needed from Gale, without us having that dreaded talk.

It is humid, but we manage to have our usual swimming contest around the lake despite the heat. Gale always wins, but I'm getting better and better. I almost catch up with him when he crosses our imaginary finish line on the shore. Panting I follow him under the shadow of our favorite tree where Gale is handing me a bottle of water.

"Almost there, Gale. I swear, tomorrow I will win this thing," I challenge, still drawing small little breaths.

"You will never beat me," Gale arrogantly retorts when I decide it is now or never. I am clueless when it comes to seduction, but after our conversation during that first night, it is obvious that Gale is still in love with me. No matter how stupid this may look, he will react. I take off my swim suit. I'm feeling confident now. I was never afraid of this. The scars are obvious, but if someone doesn't care about them, it is Gale. His eyes grow big as he looks at me. He openly stares at my wet naked body, glistening in the sunlight. This is the right place, the right time.

"Katniss, what," Gale starts, but I quickly interrupt by embracing him. I look into his hazel eyes and give him a long kiss, which he returns tentatively. I push him against the tree trunk and give him another kiss. He wants to say something so I quickly interrupt him by talking.

"I'm still a virgin, Gale. I wanted my first time to be with you. I can't stand the thought of you leaving before we have taken that last step. I want us to have a real relationship. To be a couple. I've thought about it a lot and it just has to be you."

I formulated this little speech the morning after he came here, thinking hard about the best words, words that he would respond to in a positive manner. Maybe I really became that manipulative mutt _someone_ once accused me of being. He won't be able to resist this. As much as I hate to admit it, the Hunger Games and everything that followed taught me a lot of things. Made me a lot more cunning. I've become a better liar, I learned to control my face, my voice, my body. Once one just had to have one look at me to know all my secrets. Now I'm the one who knows how to get what I want. And I am a virgin. There is no lie in that part. I couldn't care less about the status of my sexual experience, but I know some things about men by now. About hurt pride, egos and rivalry. This should be a real turn on, my saving myself for _him._

Gale looks into my eyes, searches for something. "Are you really sure that you want to make love, Katniss? With me as your partner? I am serious about us, you know that," he pauses, then goes on, voice shaking "I love you so much. I never looked at another girl, after almost losing you."

I nod. I know, Gale has been with other girls from the Seam. Now it seems there was never a real relationship, just little affairs at the slag heap. That feels like ages ago. I'm secretly satisfied that he didn't fall in love with some girl in Two. No, he is pining for me still. And this is the way it should be, I tell myself. Someone who declares their everlasting devotion shouldn't turn their back on you - no matter the circumstances.

My voice is brimming with confidence, "I love you, Gale. Let's do this. I wanted this for such a long time." I'm surprised at how easily the words "I love you" leave my lips. It's easy to lie, because it is almost true. He is the person I care most about in this world. I'm not capable of that feeling called love anymore, so "caring" is the new "love" for me. But if I want Gale and me to be together, I know that saying "I care about you" won't convince him. I start grinding myself on his leg and he wastes no time in slipping out of his bathing shorts. We kiss and touch more and more, and I'm on a high, celebrating the fact that I made him give in. Gale is so turned on by now that serious talk is far from his mind.

Compared to all the pain I've experienced in the twenty years I've been alive, losing my virginity is a joke. It doesn't hurt one bit, when he pushes in. It just feels a little full down there for a while. Maybe it's not that uncomfortable because Gale is the gentle type. Or the small type. I wouldn't know, as I have no comparison. Despite doing this for the _wrong_ reasons, I'm turned on. Watching him push in and out of me slowly, moaning my name. Showering my face with gentle kisses. Asking me if I'm hurting. Caring about me. The way his face looks, when he comes so soon, after what could have only been a minute of thrusting, is really a sight to behold. I don't come. I didn't expect to. Not the first time. But I enjoy it immensely. To be The One for another once more. That feeling I need to protect at all cost. I cannot disappoint Gale.

We lie in each others arms in the grass under the tree and I slowly caress his skin with soft feathery touches, when he suddenly looks at me with panic written all over his face. "Catnip, what about birth control? We didn't use any!"

I certainly took care of that particular problem a long time ago thanks to my mother. I don't want a child. I asked my mother for help when my cycle suddenly turned irregular. I didn't tell her that it only started after I had forgotten to eat frequently. She had the perfect solution for my bloody problem in form of a little pill. My mother has her own business now, an apothecary which is part of the biggest hospital Panem has ever seen. She can get me any pill I want and it turns out I want a lot of them. I'm pretty sure my mother is still feeling bad for neglecting me and Prim. And for just leaving me alone here in Twelve. In some twisted way, she is repaying me by not asking any questions and giving out pills for free. Some might be placebos because they don't always work. She won't give me fake medicine for contraception however, that much I am sure of.

I tell Gale he doesn't have to worry about it and climb on top of him, seeing that my touches have the intended effect and he is hard again. My own soreness is vague. I know that he will leave in less than two days. I don't know when we will see each other again, only that it might be months. I try to map out his body, remember every inch for later references. I'm determined to get as much pleasure as possible, already cursing the fact that I only took action now. 12 wasted days. I have to make every second count from now on, until the day after tomorrow.

* * *

Today is the 28th of June, Saturday. A train will depart from District 12. And Gale will be on it.

I smile bravely as long as Gale is still on the platform. We embrace one last time and he lifts his hand to my head to play with a lone strand of my hair that came loose from my braid, a gesture that is so connected with another time, another place, another... I act without a second thought, as I jerkily slap his hand away. Not this, not from Gale. His eyes narrow at my reaction. He knows what I'm thinking about and I see my carefully constructed no-serious-talk-plan go awry.

When I desperately throw myself at Gale and start to kiss him I'm not sure if it is to distract him from asking questions or kiss him goodbye. I feel that he can see right through me in this instant. The train driver is hooting already. He must leave now. Barely has time to say more than "Goodbye Catnip," in a sad, defeated voice and then he is gone. Away from me.

Tears are forming in my eyes as I force my arm to perform a waving motion. When the train cannot be seen anymore I break down crying in the middle of the platform. The passersby can watch a real spectacle here this afternoon. The proud Mockingjay collapses in public. What a sight that must be. I'm all alone again. I already feel the panic like bile rising in my throat. I am not free to follow him. I cannot board a train or fly with a hovercraft, the way my letters do. I want to be on that train with Gale and leave this wretched hole called Twelve.

I told Haymitch to stay away. I don't want him to see me in this state and I surely don't want him go around and talk about me. I know he does talk and with whom and it makes me crazy.

Blinded by tears, barely seeing where I'm going I walk on unsteady feet across the square towards the main road. Too late I realize that I took the short route to the Victor's Village. The panic is threatening to overwhelm me and I force myself to calm down. I'm a strong, grown up woman. I can walk this street and wherever I want in Twelve and no one can forbid it. It is late in the afternoon, which means _he_ won't be out anyway. I keep my eyes on the ground, pass the bakery and break into a run. Sweating, I finally arrive in the Victor's Village. Against all better judgment my head turns to the left, to the house on the opposite side of mine. No sign of life. I breathe out. I didn't realize I was even holding my breath and turn towards my door.

And stop. Someone was at my letter box. And it wasn't the mail man. I'm not sure how I know this, but I do. I fumble for the golden key, feeling nervous. I open the box and yes, there is a letter inside. I take it out and see that there is no stamp or address. Only my name, Katniss Everdeen, is written on the beige envelope in green ink. The characters look a bit messy, as if the writer has forgotten how to write and had to learn anew. I know who has written it now and probably put it in my letter box just minutes ago. I turn around once more looking at his house, searching the windows with my eyes. Still nothing. I return my attention to the letter in my hand. Slowly I flip it over and my gut clenches unpleasantly.

The sender is Peeta Mellark.


	2. Sender: Peeta Mellark

**II. Sender: Peeta Mellark**

The unpleasant gut wrenching turns into hot anger. I thought we were past this! How dare he? Furiously I start to rip the envelope in two and then stop myself. I have a feeling that he is watching. I'm not the only one who learned a few new tricks in the arena and during all that followed Peeta has become much more skilled at camouflage, at hiding. He knows how to blend in with the scenery, never be seen, stay out of sight. How he is able to make no sound with that artificial leg of his, is a mystery to me. Maybe they taught him in the Capitol and used some technical method to enhance his leg. I wouldn't put that past those _doctors_, those hijackers. Still tormenting the Mockingjay by letting Peeta silently stalk me.

I don't want to give Peeta the satisfaction of seeing that his stupid letter has me so worked up. And I don't want him to see me throwing it into the trash as that will only encourage him to write another. I will burn it without reading, but I will do that in private.

I enter the house and close the door behind me. I throw the letter into the fireplace in the sitting room, hating that I have to make a fire in summer.

I sit on the sofa knowing I should really go clean up the house now, especially the guest room. However I can't bring myself to do it. It will make the fact that Gale is gone reality. Before I can stop myself I'm tearing up once more. Gale was so kind and sweet those last few days. I had to control myself around him, work hard at holding back so I didn't start to cry and beg for him to stay. I don't think that he would've appreciate the fierce huntress he loves turn into a clingy, weak girl.

I'm climbing up the stairs, exhausted from crying. I barely make it to the guest room. Gale's room. Trembling I walk over to his bed, our bed. I'm certainly not washing those sheets any time soon. They still smell of Gale, of us making love in this room just a few hours ago. I cuddle myself into the pillow and drift into sleep, pretending he is the blanket and still resting here with me.

* * *

Days of longing turn into weeks.

Weeks of desperation turn into months in which the sound of the mail man posting letters is the only thing keeping me sane.

Gale and I - we are officially a couple. We have what Haymitch calls a long distance relationship. Meaning I can't see my lover, because he is a thousand miles away.

Gale promised that he would return to me as soon as he could get vacation again. Sometimes he is given a free weekend, but Twelve is too far away, the trip takes over a day by train. He would basically have a moment to say hello and give me a quick kiss on the platform and then jump back on the train. I would be okay with even that short glimpse of him. However visiting is out of the question, Gale tells me so in one short card he writes from the Capitol that arrives in September. There is also his family to think of. Hazelle writes she also barely sees her own son, and they live in the same District.

In reality it is all on me to keep our communication running.

I write letters and I call him as often as he has an hour to spare - he created a little time table for me to check when he is available.  
I write daily - he replies monthly.  
I call every weekend, he answers every call - for the first three months. Then suddenly I have to consider myself lucky, if he answers the phone on the pre-determined phone dates at all.

I try my hardest to not sound too reproachful when I write letters to him. Trying to keep my angry mood swings away from him is difficult, because I don't have any outlet for my frustrations other than the letters and calls. He is busy, I get that. I'm not. All I have is too much time doing nothing.

I forget again that I am supposed to eat at least one meal a day. My body steadily returns to the one of a younger girl lacking womanly curves. I begin to look like I did long before the Hunger Games.

Half a year into our life as a couple I realize that I haven't touched myself for two months. My daily masturbating sessions in the guest room seem like a fading memory. When the sheets smell of Gale no longer - only of me - it is time to finally wash them and move back into my bedroom. Sometimes I ask myself if I could have dreamed having sex with Gale. Maybe that wasn't real and all in my head? Is this what the hijacking felt like for my dear neighbor? I won't go over and ask him, that's for sure. The need for sex disappears and is replaced by a desire for more pills to numb down the loneliness. As usual, I mention it to my mother and after a while a small parcel holding a box of pills finds its way to my red letter box.

* * *

Someone is banging at my door. Hard. People have become rude here in Twelve or whatever this place is called now. I'm in the sitting room on the sofa. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner tells me it is half past eleven. I have been staring at the fireplace for quite a while, not noticing my feet have gone to sleep. As I limp towards the front door, loud coursing can be heard from the other side.

"Open the damn door or I'll break it down! I know you're there, Katniss Everdeen!" Haymitch Abernathy's raised voice cannot be ignored.

"Stop it, Haymitch. I'm coming," I try to shout back, however the only sound that comes out is some weird croaking noise. I haven't used my voice for days. When was the last time I talked to Haymitch?

I open the door and there he is, looking wild and his hair is disheveled. "What?" I whisper. He gives me a long hard look, steps into the house and closes the door behind him. He turns to me and gives me a short hug and then steps back to get a better look at me.

"I was worried, Sweetheart. I have been knocking and shouting at your door for five minutes. Why do you lock the door? It's only us here in the Victor's Village. Why do you want to keep us out?" His voice is softer now.

I grimace at that. Haymitch knows exactly that I don't like surprise visitors sitting in my kitchen. That's why I lock the door. When he sees the look on my face he sighs in exasperation. "Look, I have not seen you in days. And you look as thin as a stick and as white as a ghost. When was the last time you ate?"

My answer comes so swiftly he can barely blink. "Just this morning, I had some berries from the woods and toast for breakfast an hour ago," I turn around quickly and walk into the sitting room, returning to my nest on the sofa.

"Bullshit. You haven't left the house to hunt for days," Haymitch follows me and shakes his head. "It's winter Katniss! There are no berries in the woods. And toast? Why do you lie? Henry told me he hasn't sold bread to you in weeks. In fact, you haven't been seen by anyone in town since October."

I cringe at being caught lying. I consider telling him I baked the toast myself, but this would really be pathetic.

"What's it to you Haymitch? Spying on me? Why are you talking about me with the townspeople? You know I hate that. Why are you even here?" Anger overwhelms me. "Don't you have work to do?" I know the words are unfair as I speak, but I can't seem to stop myself. When Haymitch is involved I never hold back. He is the only one who can handle the real me anyway.

"Calm down. My workshop will survive a few hours without me. You're important to me. To us. I need to check up on you and I need you to eat. We are concerned about you." Haymitch sighs. "I want you to live Sweetheart. Just surviving won't do. Trust your old mentor, please. You have to eat. What would Gale say if he saw you like this?"

Exhausted all the fight leaves my body and I nod. I look up at Haymitch and then ask in a small voice. "Did you talk to Gale?"

"Yes, I did. He wants to surprise you with a visit and only told me over the phone last night. I thought it would be best if I warned you though. You have to prepare and eat. He'll be over in two weeks. So please, please, promise me you'll go to the bakery and buy food, ok?"

There is too much information in that sentence for my befuddled brain to process. Gale will be back in two weeks? I can't believe it! I could kiss Haymitch for warning me. Immediately I straighten up my stance. Gale can't see me in this state, I have to make sure I look my best when he is here.

"You're right. Sorry Haymitch. I will eat. In fact I will go to Henry's right now. Can I bring you something from town? I can also go to the butcher if you like?", I ask smiling at the news of Gale's return, feeling eager to leave the house. Suddenly my stomach gives a low rumble and I smirk, noticing that I am indeed hungry. I start to stand up to walk over to the wardrobe to get my coat, when Haymitch interrupts me.

"Wait a minute, Sweetheart," he looks around the room as if he's searching for something. His eyes fly over the fireplace and back to my face. "Uh... did you check your letter box recently?" I don't know what he's getting at.

"Yes, I check it daily. Why?" Haymitch looks uncomfortable.

"Please tell me you have read his letters." Haymitchs voice feels flat to my ears. I save us both the awkwardness of pretending I don't know who he's talking about. I sink back to the sofa and take a long look at Haymitch.

"No. I haven't read his letters. I threw them out." The face Haymitch is making at my words can only be described as heartbroken.

After I found the beige envelope on that June afternoon when Gale left I had been struggling with my inner demons. I had burned the letter in the morning without opening it. Having no direct contact with Peeta for over a year, a letter from him wasn't wanted. I wondered what had made him spring into action anyway, I couldn't help it. It must've been because he saw me with Gale.

I didn't want to waste a minute and think about his reasons though. I had spent too many long nights wondering about Peeta Mellark and his stupid reasons. He could not worm himself into my mind that easily again, I was determined that he stayed out of my head. But then there was another letter and another and another. All at once "Sender: Peeta Mellark" was written on the majority of my mail. It was like Peeta was forcing me to acknowledge the fact that he existed. I burned each letter immediately.

There was this weekend a few weeks ago when Gale didn't answer my call. I hit a particularly low point. There hadn't been any mail in the letter box that week - only Peeta's. I almost opened his letter. I wondered briefly if Peeta wrote the same words each time or - believing I was reading his musings - happily chatted away. Did he really create new carefully crafted content for each letter? I managed to restrain myself and the letter followed the same fate as its predecessors.

I don't feel bad about it. And I tell that to Haymitch.

"I'm not interested in what he has to say. You know that. Why are you so surprised that I didn't read them? I thought you knew. We never talked about them," that should have made it obvious to Haymitch that I have no idea what Peeta might be writing about.

"Sweetheart, if I had started to talk about the boy, you would've kicked me out of this house in an instant. And I'm not saying you're wrong about him. Just one look at your face right now makes it clear that you don't have any intention to talk. Nonetheless you have to listen to me for a minute."

"If Peeta has something to say he should come himself," I say coldly, knowing I wouldn't listen to Peeta and leave him standing in the cold at the front door.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No. He cannot do that. Talking to you is hard on him as well. Besides he has no time to waste, knocking at a door that won't open."

I hate that curiosity makes me ask: "What is so important for him to do that he doesn't have time? Nothing to do here anyway. Or is he painting horrible hijacked images of the Mockingjay all night so he can't get out of bed in the morning?" My voice turns icy.

Instead of looking angry Haymitch just looks distressed when he answers, "No. He is busy, because he has a business to run. Remember the bakery? Mellark's?"

What a stupid question to ask. Of course, I remember the bakery, why does he have to ask this? I detect no sarcasm in his tone. And who could forget Mellark's bakery?

I remember each little detail. Everything about it. Without wanting them to, my thoughts fly back to the spring when we all helped rebuilding parts of the town. Peeta had some money from the Victor's winning left so he chose to rebuilt his father's house. He opted for a busy spot on the main road between the new town square and the Victor's Village. Peeta, Haymitch and me spent long evenings carefully planning each room. From the sales front counter to the working area at the back with a big oven for bread and another area for creating cakes and experimenting on smaller pastries. A bright small office for the paper work and a store room with a back-door, where Peeta could place ingredients that came from the other districts and the Capitol.

Unbidden an image flitters vividly through my brain. It's early in the morning, the morning before the grand opening. We are preparing for the day I turn around and see...

Peeta, his blonde hair shimmering golden due to the rising sun shining through the open door. Looking serenely happy as he lifts a sack of flour to the shelf. And then he looks at me. He is smiling and in that smile lies the promise of a bright future. His blue eyes full of love, sweet adoration and endless happiness.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. No, no! I cannot, I _will_ _not_ remember this.

"Yes, I remember the bakery, Haymitch. What about it?" I shake my head to dispel the image, not wanting to think of Peeta this way.

"Have you actually seen Peeta in the Victor's Village lately?"

Thinking hard I try to remember. "No, he has become apt at hiding away it seems," I answer slowly.

I don't know where Haymitch is going with this. Peeta lives in the Victor's Village. We avoid each other, as much as one can avoid another when you're direct neighbors. I often take a different route, leave the house through the back door, scared of running into him. Exhausting, but worth it. It always felt like Peeta was also making the effort to see as little of me as possible. Sometimes I saw his form disappearing around the corner of the road or walking towards Haymitch's house. When I opened up the windows facing his house he could be seen working in his garden or painting his house. That was in summer though and now that Haymitch actually asks me about Peeta I notice that I haven't seen him in a while.

"He is not hiding, Katniss. He is sleeping at the bakery. Basically lives there now," Haymitch hesitates, seems to have some inner fight with himself and then continues.

"The boy, he is at his limit. I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I guess he thinks you already know. He believes you are actually communicating again through the letters. I told him that was most likely wishful thinking, but he wouldn't listen."

Before feelings of regret over the letters even have the smallest chance to creep up on me, I quickly remind myself that it is Peeta's fault that things are as they are. Peeta doesn't have the right to feel hurt by any action of mine.

My voice is impassive as I ask Haymitch, "What about Elmar and Coraline? They can't be too happy with him sleeping on their sofa."

Elmar and his wife Coraline are new settlers who moved from District Five to District Twelve. Elmar is a baker who lost his bakery during the bombings of the war. He wasn't as well off financially as Peeta so he had to look around Panem for employment. Both of them are a huge help to Peeta. They moved into the big apartment on the top floor of the bakery and while Peeta and Elmar are working in the back, Coraline is responsible for the counter, orders and the customers. They are good, nice people. Elmar and Peeta shared a connection immediately. Exchanging baking secrets and tricks of the trade with one another. Elmar is a natural joker and like one of the older brothers that Peeta lost. But then Peeta always drew people to him as moths are drawn to the flame. I have never met anyone who didn't like him. Even after the hijacking Peeta was always kind to strangers and easy to get along with.

"He isn't sleeping on their sofa. There is no sofa, as they are not here anymore. He had to let them go. They returned to Five last spring." My eyes grow large at this.

"They resigned," I whisper, shocked. "But why? There was so much work to do! Why?"

"Sweetheart, please, don't take what I tell you now the wrong way. I know that Peeta made his own bed and now has to lie in it. But have you ever thought about how your actions reflect on others? He once told you that you have no idea about the effect you can have. And that is still true. Currently even more than back then."

"Stop beating around the bush, Haymitch. What are you talking about? What have I done?" I hiss now. I try to wreck my brain to get an answer to the question on whatever I could have to done that made Peeta lay off Elmar and Coraline.

"Katniss, you must realize how famous you are. You will always be the Mockingjay, a symbol of the rebellion, a celebrity basically. The boy, he was well liked to, but even back in the first arena, the sponsors and everyone was simply in love with you and you only. Even though he won't believe it, I tried to get Peeta a sponsor's gift as well. However people just didn't respond to him the way they did to you. And it is still true for this small town here. Everyone is fond of you, you're a hero of the war, the one who made it all happen. Sure there are people who have negative feelings, but for the majority, they look up to you. You're an idol here in Twelve. That's how it is."

"So what?" I am almost screaming at my old my mentor. "That's not my fault and I never wanted any of it!"

"I know that. But that doesn't change the reality of it. Now tell me Sweetheart, where do you buy your bread?"

At this abrupt change of topic I can only look at Haymitch and answer dumbfounded, "At the other bakery, at Henry's."

"Why? Is Henry's bread the best in town?" Haymitch inquires.

I shake my head. No, it isn't. The best bread in town will always be Peeta's bread. Henry's buns just pale in comparison to every baked good Peeta ever created.

"That's not...that's not the reason why I don't...why I'm not..." I stammer. I don't finish the sentence.

"I know, Sweetheart, I know. But the rest of Twelve doesn't have these inside informations on the former star-crossed lovers. All they see is that Katniss Everdeen prefers Henry Walner's bread to Peeta Mellark's. If the Mockingjay of all people doesn't buy her bread at Mellark's there must be something wrong with it. This is a small town, rumors can destroy you and once the public opinion turns, there is no holding back. In fact Twelve is so small, it doesn't even need two bakeries. Peeta's business was getting slower and slower until he couldn't pay Elmar and Coraline anymore. There are still a few loyal customers left, mostly older residents from Twelve who lived here before the war and knew his father. But numbers are dwindling. The boy has to do the work on his own now from the paperwork to the baking, cleaning, selling. He is working around the clock and it's taking its toll."

I am silent. I honestly don't know what to say. Some voice inside my head is screaming _You should've never burned his letters, you idiot!_

I did what I thought was best, what I thought Peeta wanted as well. I never ever wanted to destroy him. We went our seperate ways but that my actions did this to him cuts like a knife. Peeta's life work. His passion. All that he has left.

"He's in deep trouble financially," Haymitch continues. "If things don't change for him and soon, I don't know what will happen. I tried my best to get the town people back on his side. But I don't have that much power here. It's not only the quality of his bread that is in question with these folks. When you were seen with Gale in the summer people seemed to feel that you confirmed their suspicions that Peeta is a villain who broke your heart and shouldn't be trusted."

Feeling dizzy I grip the edge of the sofa to steady myself. I don't really understand this. Peeta is the lovable one. I'm antisocial and hate to talk to the townsfolk. Why do they love me so much and decided to side with me? It doesn't make sense.

"I'm happy you chose to eat again," Haymitch says. "Don't forget to act surprised when Gale arrives in two weeks. I just have one request. Buy your bread from the boy and make sure that people see you at the bakery and in town carrying his goods. It might be too late, but we've got to give it try."

I'm barely listening, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. I feel Haymitch's eyes on me. He is waiting for an answer. Slowly I nod.

"Yes, I will go. I will go to him. I promise."

"Good. Thank you, Sweetheart. I don't know how the boy will react to your presence after all this time, so don't try to scare him, alright?" he turns around making for the door. "Gotta go, or else my business will also fail. I'll see you around." And with that Haymitch is gone.

I'm still bewildered. This morning nothing was further from my mind than Peeta and his bakery. Now I promised Haymitch I would visit said place. I can't bring myself to move.

I'm scared of really going there. Seeing Peeta for the first time close up again, talking to him, buying his bread. What seemed like a natural and easy task two years ago, now is a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to take on.

If what Haymitch said is true though, it is high time I go. Our old mentor wouldn't make this story up. I know it is the truth. I have to make sure that Peeta's bakery won't fail. I can't put this off any longer.

Heavy hearted I get up, grab my coat and purse and leave the house in the direction of Mellark's Bakery for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

* * *

The afternoon is chilly and the last leaves of the year are twirling around in little circles as I come closer and closer to the bakery. My hands are sweaty and my throat is dry. When I can make out the small shop sign which Haymitch so carefully crafted one evening, I feel like my heartbeat is on overdrive. It is crazy but I'm afraid. Afraid of seeing him again up close, hearing that voice. Peering in the direction of the square I see there aren't many people out this afternoon. Silently I curse. I hoped that some gossip would be on the street to tell tales right away. I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. I have to come back here more often.

I'm nearly at the door but I walk past the bakery just risking a quick glance inside. No customer is in and the shop window looks strangely empty. There are a few loaves of rye bread laid out in a basket and I see a lone baguette at the sides. Peeta and his father, back in the days of the old bakery, usually displayed a variety of cake. Prim loved to look at those sweet treats. Sadness starts to overwhelm me at the thought of her. I push the sadness into the furthest corner of my mind as the situation is complicated enough without dark thoughts of the little duck. I just can't handle the grief right now.

When I reach the town square I make for a short circle and trace back to the bakery. I'm really bad at this. Putting off the inevitable. Returning to the front entrance once more I almost start to linger again. Maybe it is good that I don't have any idea what I'm going to say or else all courage would've left me already. Haymitch ambushed me with this and I'm kind of glad I am here now and didn't have time to overthink this. Straightening up I steel myself and then enter before I can change my mind.

The cheery ring of the doorbell above sounds unbefitting as I push the door open. There is no one in sight, but I hear Peeta's voice calling, "Coming. I'll be right with you!" from the back. I swallow as I wait. The air is warm in the shop. Oven's running on full heat in the back, I reckon.

"What can I do...," Peeta says, hastily appearing through the back door, drying his hands on a small towel and stopping in midstep at the sight of me. "...for you?" he finishes in a low voice. His mouth hangs slightly open in shock.

It is obvious that he didn't expect me. He moves his hands to his eyes and slowly begins to rub them, as if I'm some sort of spirit that suddenly materialized out of nowhere. I wonder if coming here was really that good of a plan. Haymitch would have warned me if Peeta could have one of his episodes at the sight of me, wouldn't he? Is it possible that Haymitch didn't really think this through? Or maybe he never knew what exactly triggered Peeta's episodes so he didn't think of the possibilities this situation might entail?

To distract myself and to stop the awkward silence that has stretched between the two of us I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I'd like to have some bread, please." My voice sounds surprisingly steady. I'm looking Peeta straight in the eyes, trying to see any signs of his pupils dilating - preparing to flee if it happens.

Peeta blinks and doesn't answer. The silence is unbearable. I don't know what to do. When he doesn't move I finally break eye contact and take a look at the counter. What I see is almost as pathetic as the displayed bread in the window. About three regular loaves of bread, one nut and raisin bread and a dozen wheat, rye and regular rolls. That's all. I never saw it look this empty in here. _This is your fault!_ a little nagging voice is agonizing me in the back of my mind.

"Katniss?" He asks, his voice weak, almost breaking. It sounds like we're back in that horrible cave and he cannot see me. Like I'm hidden by the darkness and he is confirming I'm really there. I force myself to look up at him again. He has tears in his eyes. "Katniss, is that really you?"

I have to hold back a snappy reply at this. He hasn't gone blind, so he should be able to recognize me. I don't answer. Instead I ask "Are there any cheese buns left?" in a bored voice.

I really became good at hiding my real emotions. Peeta on the other hand wears his heart on his sleeve. He looks at the counter as well and then shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't bake any. Today. I mean, there is bread. I made bread. Today. And rolls. Maybe...but...but maybe you'd like some rye rolls? Or nut and raisin bread? You always liked that, didn't you? I'm so sorry about the cheese buns," he is rambling. I don't really know what he is talking about. This boy who was so good with words, words that could make me feel like anything was possible and words that did hurt worse than fire burns on my skin.

I force myself to take a long look at Peeta. Haymitch wasn't kidding in any way. He doesn't look good. Deep dark circles stand out under his red eyes. His golden locks appear ashen. His skin is pale and even though I can make out muscles through his white shirt he looks thinner up close. He also looks older than his twenty years, resembling his father more. But then I think about my own appearance and shudder. Peeta is not the only one who didn't take care of himself. I feel his eyes on me. The desire to leave the bakery becomes overwhelming.

"Well, we can't help that, can we? Just give me the nut and raisin bread then," I speak very fast now and search for my purse urgently. "How much do I owe you?"

"No, no, you don't have to pay, that's alright!" He is also speeding up his talk as if to catch up with me. "I'm sorry, I didn't have any cheese buns ready for you. I should have made some, really. Do you have to leave already? I could make them for you now. We can talk a bit in the back. If not, I could bring them over to your house later. Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. Listen, I'm sorry that there is not that much of a selection to choose from today, I had some troubles with the oven lately."

Peeta gives me a apologetic smile as he slowly wraps the nut and raisin bread in paper. I don't smile back. Peeta is lying to me and that makes me angry. I almost say something when I remember Haymitch's words. Peeta isn't aware of the fact that I know he is in a bind.

In his letters he obviously didn't mention his problems with the bakery. If he did he wouldn't have to pretend that he has oven troubles.  
Or that the reason his assortment became so small is anything other than the fact that there are almost no customers left.  
What the hell was he writing about in those letters?

I'm almost as angry at his lies as I am at his foolish suggestion to talk in private. Has he forgotten everything that happened? He was the one who turned our dealings so awkward, made me keep my distance!

"I don't need your charity, Peeta. Just tell me how much," I say coldly and he flinches as if I'd slapped him. He tells me a ridiculously low price and I count the money and leave it atop the coin tray. No wonder he is in trouble, if he sells his products for so little. Mrs. Mellark would turn in her grave if she'd witness her son's short sighted business decisions. And for once I would agree with her. I take the wrapped bread from his hands and make to leave, not wanting to stay a minute longer.

"Wait please, Katniss. It's been months since I mentioned it, so I thought you wouldn't come, which I'd understand of course. But I'm so glad, you came, really," he is speaking again and to hear him talk like that only makes me more irritated.

For the second time time today I feel ashamed about the way I acted. Peeta deserves to know that I didn't read any of his letters. He could've stopped wasting his time writing them much sooner. I can't bring myself to tell him that I never knew about any invitation of his. Forcing myself to pay attention he babbles on "..and that's certainly true. I meant what I said though, I can deliver to your house from tomorrow on, if you'd like."

He looks at me, expectation shining in his blue eyes. Expectations he has no right to.

I would like nothing better than for him just to leave the bread on my doorstep each morning, to not see the bakery like this, to not have to talk to him again.

However these wishes are in vain. I shake my head and say slowly, "No, but thanks for offering. I'm coming back here tomorrow. You better have these cheese buns ready by then." I try to sound teasing, but my tone is dry.

Peeta is oblivious and just beams at me. I mumble a short goodbye and slip through the door. The doorbell drowns out Peeta's bright "See you tomorrow, Katniss!" and then I'm out at the street.

Our whole exchange couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes but it still felt draining and anticlimatic. We didn't speak about the past and I'm glad for it. I can't help but wonder about tomorrow though and the days that will follow. As I walk towards home I pass a couple of kids on their way to the town square. Unfortunately those don't look like they would tattle much.

The thought of another visit to the bakery lost some of it's frightfulness. Our exchange was normal and polite. I'm still not happy that visiting will be a regular event of my day from now on though. Gale will be back in two weeks and I'd rather not want him to know that I am on talking terms with Peeta again, although Gale would probably be glad and think that this is healthy.

Darkness falls over the Victor's Village when I return home and glance at my red letter box. Connecting the dots I observe that Peeta, even though he slept at the bakery for over half a year, made his way to the Victor's Village regularly to drop letters. Letters which I burned immediately. Unbidden images of Peeta sitting at his desk in the back office, writing one of those letter comes to my mind. That must've also taken time, time he didn't have.

I eat a slice of the nut and raisin bread and get ready for bed. I lay down and think of the bread and how rich and good it tasted. Just like the bread he threw to me when we were children. As I drift into sleep my last thought is that it has been much too long since I had any cheese buns and that I do look forward to taste them again.


	3. Sender: Plutarch Heavensbee

**III. Sender: Plutarch Heavensbee**

_Soft white cotton sheets are tucked around my naked body. A pair of redstarts break into song outside, as a light breeze ruffles the bedroom curtain through the open window. Sunlight leaves a bright impression in the cool of the morning. _

_Turning around, I observe Peeta sleeping next to me. It is a rare occurrence that I'm awake while he isn't, so I take the time to study his face carefully. He looks relaxed, like he had a good night, cheeks tinted in a light rosé. I wonder what he is dreaming about? Me? I smile to myself and put my left arm over his bare belly. Cuddling closer I look up at his face and start to play with his earlobe. Giggling at how his expression changes from relaxation to something more urgent, I continue to pinch it tenderly between my thumb and index finger._

_"Katniss," he moans slowly, still lost in dreamland. Arousal strikes my body like lightning and settles between my legs._

I wake up with a gasp. I'm not in my bed. I fell asleep at my desk writing a letter to Johanna last night. Scratching my head I see that the beautiful stationary is now ruined because I drooled on it. It's still early in the morning. Gale will visit in the afternoon. He isn't the only one returning. My sex drive also graces me with its presence again.

And I'm dreaming of Peeta, how splendid. No bloody hijacking dreams or nightmares of abandonment. I got to have _these_ kind of dreams about him. I feel cheated by my body and subconsciousness. I never did anything with Peeta but kiss. Our last kiss was to get him out of the hijacking hell, in the sewers of the Capitol. Hardly a sexual encounter, and at that it took place almost three years ago.

I groan and drag myself into the shower. Washing up, I begin a little beauty program, barely remembering the tricks of my prep team. I only shave under my arms and my legs to make myself desirable for Gale, at the same time assuming he wouldn't mind the hairy me, anway.

I'm dismayed that I don't dream of Gale. I had sex with him! There were romantic adventures of Gale and Katniss in the woods of all places. We did it at the lake shore and standing up with me leaning backwards against our tree - that was pretty hot. Before we left for my house we also tried it in the water once. Wet but squishy fun. Together with that night in the guest room? Enough to satisfy any sexual fantasy. Sure, I just lost my virginity and was a bit tight at first. Yet, that didn't make me desire Gale any less, quite the contrary. The weeks after he left, his gorgeous smile and beautiful body was all I could think about.

I wonder if Haymitch and Peeta didn't secretly plan on me and Peeta getting closer again. Ignoring Peeta for so long, he is back in my head. I am forced to see him daily, while Gale is a distant memory. It is only natural that my body latches onto visions of Peeta. I didn't take any pills for two weeks and by eating nutritious bakery goods I promptly began to fill up. Peeta kept his promise and started to bake cheese buns. I usually buy them after I come back from hunting. In winter, hunting isn't always that successful, but I make sure to go to the bakery before I trade any game with the butcher. The busiest time in town is in the morning and I have to make sure a lot of people see me coming out of Mellark's. So far our plan to get the townsfolk back on Peeta's side isn't working that well. Other than the cheese buns, he didn't add anything else to the variety of his goods yet.

I wonder what is wrong with the townsfolk? Will they ever be satisfied? Maybe Henry is angry that I started buying from Peeta and is badmouthing me? I'm impatient, wishing I could have the old people of Twelve back, who knew us and not only our image. These new settlers are weird. Coming from a long life of oppression and near starvation, finally free to live their life as they want and what do they do? Gossip. Once more I'm reminded how Twelve is not the place I like to call home and I despise that I have to live here.

A glowing pink sun is setting on the horizon when Gale arrives. As I'm not supposed to know he is coming I'm preparing root soup in my kitchen, when he knocks on the door. I act all surprised as I happily take him into my arms. He kisses me long and hard and feeling his arousal on my belly, we waste no time in shedding our clothes and he carries me to the guest room where we make love on the bed, the soup long forgotten. I needed this so much. Being apart for half a year, I got the picture that I was a bit harsh on him when he visited in the summer. I really do love him and didn't only tell him that to bind him to me. I resent that he will leave in four days already and I know I will be back longing for him, missing him and longing some more and then I will go crazy in between.

* * *

We go hunting every morning of his stay and three days in, on the vigil of his departure I'm having problems concentrating on the hunt. All I can think of is his leaving me alone again. When we check some snares I laid out a while ago and advance deeper into the woods, I can't help myself and ask him, "Do you really have to go back Gale? Can't you stay here a bit longer? You just arrived and I have the feeling you're not going to return anytime soon."

I work hard at keeping any accusation out of my tone.

Gale looks at me and then says, "Oh, Catnip. Don't you think I hate this situation as well? I miss you so much, I can't hardly sleep most of the time, because I think of your cute self."

He comes closer and tickles me. Gives me a short hug which I hesitantly return.

I get the feeling he is trying to appease me. If he misses me so much, why did he not answer the phone when I called? Why didn't he write any letters to me? Yeah, he is busy. But shouldn't you think of your life partner more if you're so in love with them? Actually do everything in your power to be with them?

"You know I miss you, too. So why don't you stay a bit longer? Just a few days. Is that too much to ask for?" Now I can't help it anymore and the nagging tone is there.

He sighs and his voice sounds a tad bit colder when he answers,

"You know that I'm busy. Building up a country after a war is no easy task. It takes years. There is so much to think of, so much to do! And we don't have enough people to do it. There are actually fractions who wish for Panem to return to Snow's system! Can you believe that? We have to do our best that this won't happen and the population of the districts can live in freedom and in peace. You, of all people, should understand that this is important work for the future of this country!"

He is getting louder with each word. We're not going getting any game today.

"I understand that, believe me," I reassure him, "And I'm really proud of you for being so involved in all of this. But don't you think of me at all? Of a possible future with me? How is that supposed to happen with us seeing each other only every other year?"

Now I'm the one who is shouting.

I'm a little shocked at the turn this conversation took. I didn't plan for it to go that way, but these thoughts have been gnawing at me for a while. A long distance relationship only ever works if the goal is to move in together at some point in the future. But how could that ever be possible? I cannot leave Twelve.

I feel a tear falling down onto my cheek. I don't want him to see me cry. Dammit. The task had been so simple. Enjoy four nice days with Gale, make some beautiful memories for the cold winter that is surely to follow. I definitely didn't plan to fight him until he finally sees me crumble down in the woods as I do in this moment.

Strong arms embrace me, holding me tight. I can smell his odor that had been familiar once. He doesn't smell of the woods anymore. That earthy, musky fragrance has been replaced by something different, something much more airy. I'm not sure if I like that. He kisses me slowly. Then looks me deep in the eyes.

"My sweet Catnip. Please don't cry," he hesitates and then continues, "Actually I have given this a lot of thought. I know you don't want to stay here in Twelve."

I sniff and accidently taste a lone salty tear that made its way past my lips.

"No, I don't. You cannot imagine how much I hate this place. It is suffocating me. I want nothing more than out. I want to be with you. Move to Two. Start a new life. Whatever you want."

Gale slowly caresses the top of my head with gentle strokes.

"I talked to Plutarch and most importantly I also talked to Paylor about some sort of pardon for you. They could lift your banishment and then you would be free to choose where you want to live. Plutarch just said it wasn't his decision to make, basically putting all the responsibility into Paylor's hands. He is not as powerless as he pretends to be, though."

His tone sounds distant when he continues.

"Paylor, well, she is very busy. The first time I talked to her about you and asked her if anything could be done, she just simply said no. The second time, she was getting more irritated that I still insisted on the issue. Since then, she won't meet me in private anymore. I think she is afraid of me bringing it up again."

The impact his words have are similar to the feeling of hitting the icy ground, when I returned from the hut where I met Bonnie and Twill. It hurts. I'm thankful that Gale talked to Plutarch and Paylor. But they obviously think I should stay in banishment. More tears keep coming and I grab Gale's hunting jacket to keep myself steady.

"Don't give up now, Catnip. Please, that is not who you are. You are strong!" he insists and lays his warm fingers under my chin and forces me to look at him.

"I have an idea. Start writing letters. You've become skilled at that, am I right? I'll help you to make them more official sounding. Write letters to Plutarch, Paylor and other ministers and important people. If you just keep on doing that, they ought to listen and realize that they have nothing to fear if you have your freedom back. I will give you a list of addresses."

I stop crying at his words. Could it really be? If I just am persistent enough, they will change their minds? I wonder.

"You would really help me with the letters?" I sniffle.

Gale breaks out into a huge smile, "Of course, I will. I would do anything for you. Let's start with them right away."

He laughs and pulls me up, "Come on, I think all the game is gone by now. We have to find something else for dinner tonight."

* * *

Gale's lovemaking is very gentle that evening. He takes his time, slowly touching every inch of my body with his hands and later does things with his tongue, that make me blush just thinking about them. I never even knew a lover would do that, it certainly never crossed my mind. I'm learning a lot of things from Gale during our nights together. He's a talented lover and his tutelage leaves me in awe at his skills in the bedroom. When I awkwardly try to do the same to him, he tells me it isn't necessary. He is bent on spoiling me, only thinking of my pleasure.

I feel bad for shouting at him. He is not at fault when it comes to my banishment and is actively working to be with me, while I didn't take any action at all. I never even thought of trying to reason with the government again.

Maybe Gale realized that I still have a weaker side to me when he saw me cry and he's striving to make amends. I want to do something nice for him, so I slip out of the house around four in the morning to get a perfect breakfast ready, which we can eat in bed later.

It is so early that Peeta only just finished his first batch of rolls and is placing them in a basket behind the counter, when I walk into the bakery. He looks surprised when he sees me. He never seems to get used to me being a regular customer.

"Good Morning, Katniss. You're out early! I'm sorry, the cheese buns are still in the oven, so why don't you wait a while?" He looks at me strangely, then a very faint pink blush appears on his cheeks, "You look beautiful this morning."

"I don't have much time and I don't need cheese buns today," I say ignoring his remark about my beauty. "Can I have four wheat rolls?"

He takes the warm rolls out of the basket and puts them into a little brown paper bag.

"Do you have a guest?", he softly asks after putting my money into the register. I give him a long look. He is still blushing slightly. Could he have seen Gale? I don't really want to talk about this with Peeta, but I cannot pretend I didn't hear him either.

"Yeah, I have a guest. You remember Gale? He came from District Two a few nights ago," I answer staring into his eyes, daring him to say anything. It is kind of a low blow. Peeta knows very well who Gale is.

"Of course, yes, Gale. I saw him on TV a few times. He seems to be really busy with his government job, right? That's very nice of him, to visit you."

He nods to himself and hands me the change.

"I would really like to talk to him. Maybe you can invite him over? He can come by the bakery anytime, I'm always here. Or even to my house, if he prefers that."

I wonder how that would be possible as Peeta is never home in the Victor's Village anymore. Would I let Gale know that Peeta wants to see him and waste the few hours he has left in Twelve? Yeah, sure.

And letting him have a nice long chat with Peeta Mellark in the bakery? No way I'll allow that to happen.

"I can tell him, but he is leaving today. So he won't be able to make it, sorry to say," I tell Peeta who looks kind of forlorn at that. I've got the impression that he wants to ask more, most likely burns with curiosity about me and my relationship with Gale. However I'm pretty certain that Haymitch told him months ago that Gale and me are together. I quickly say goodbye and leave the bakery, almost running home.

Am I being unfair? Peeta is lonely. Even if Gale is not a friend to him, he wants to talk and connect to people. This needn't be about me. Elmar and Coraline left and the whole town started to ignore him. The only people Peeta is talking to are probably Haymitch and Dr. Aurelius, a man who is paid to do so. He is so desperate that he would even talk to his former rival - a man who offered to kill him - of all people. This is the boy who always had a bunch of friends swarming around him at school. And there is no one left. No friends, no family, no one. I swallow as my heart fills up with pity. The boy with the bread is back to worm himself into my heart again and to my biggest horror I realize that I don't have the slightest idea on how to keep him out.

* * *

Back home I prepare breakfast on a small tray and carry it upstairs. Gale is still snoring away and I smile at that. I put the tray down on the nightstand and look at the alarm clock. It's quarter past five so the darkness will prevail for a few hours. I should get back to sleep but Gale is leaving so soon. The earlier he wakes, the better.

I kiss him awake and he barely has time to open his eyes when I begin to undress him. He laughs at my urgency and moans, "Catnip, you are insatiable," with a glance at the alarm clock. I quickly silence him with another kiss and dive under the sheets to return the favor of last night. He pulls the sheets away and encourages me with his moans and I think to myself that he was wrong about this, it _is_ necessary that I do it for him. His hands are caressing the top of my head, like they did in the woods yesterday. He steadily guides me along and while it is a bit weird at first, I manage to get the hang of it pretty quickly. I want to be an affectionate and skilled lover, one he will remember when we're apart.

Later he notices the breakfast tray and and we hungrily devour two of the wheat rolls and have some of the tea I made.

"These rolls are great, where did you get them this early?" Gale asks unaware of where his innocent question is going to lead. I was so careful, careful not to ever mention anything about bread, bakeries and certainly not Peeta. I managed to avoid this topic for so long that I began to let my guard down around Gale. And now he finds an opening and doesn't even realize it.

Gale is quick witted, he notices when I don't answer immediately and insists in a serious tone, "Katniss, where did you get these rolls?"

"Mellark's Bakery," I give the answer reluctantly.

"Oh," he says.

"Oh," I agree. We are both silent for a while. I'm munching away on the roll, having lost my appetite.

"Catnip," he says softly. "Won't you tell me what happened? After the war? Haymitch only says you and Peeta fell out with one another. Had some sort of big fight. What was that all about? The two of you are on speaking terms again, right?" He pauses, and then "I think I have a right to know and you should tell me."

I'm not ready, not ready to talk about this. Not so much because it still hurts that badly, which it certainly does. I'm afraid of Gale's reaction. It is true that nothing romantic happened between Peeta and me. But it could have. After we returned to Twelve, Peeta Mellark was much more to me than I'd ever like to admit. He was my life raft until he all of a sudden pulled the plug and decided to let me drown. If I am completely honest with Gale and tell him the whole truth, I'm sure he will leave and never come back. I still had erotic dreams of Peeta four nights ago, for heaven's sake. So I can't. I shake my head, pondering on what to say.

"Peeta and me didn't have a fight. It's just that...well, we did not have that much in common after all, him being from Town and me being Seam. We understood that we didn't click. So we decided that we shouldn't spend so much time together. You know that we were just acting when it came to the star-crossed lovers. We were forced together by the circumstances. After the war we couldn't find anything to talk about anyway," I finish lamely.

Even to my ears that sounded pathetic. To reduce our relationship to something as insignificant as the difference between Town and Seam, and getting bored with one another, after all that we've been through, simply doesn't make sense. It certainly doesn't explain why we avoided each other like the plague. Gale seems to think so too. I can see that he doesn't believe a word I say. He doesn't pressure me into a better explanation though, and gets brownie points for that.

The mood changes after my little speech. We don't make love anymore until Gale has to leave for the station. Instead he instructs me in the art of official letter writing, so that I become much more confident in my correspondence with our new authorities. He is pretty good at that and I admit he really came a long way. Living in Twelve without the rebellion he would've wasted his life working away down in the mines, destroying not only his body but also leaving no stimuli for his mind. Gale had always been too intelligent for that horrendous work down there. As a kid from the Seam his future had been bleak indeed.

I wonder if my father also gave up on some great talent. Maybe he wanted to sing for a living, but had to bury that dream deep down in the mines? He was forced to work there, didn't really have a choice and he needed to feed his family. Did he ever think of a rebellion himself? He is long gone and the rebellion came too late. I can't ask him anymore.

At least Gale's life was turned around and we worked together to make it happen. He lives his life, not only free to do as he chooses, he can do what he loves. Have a career. Better late than never. I'm glad about the rebellion and how we overthrew the system. Back then everything happened so fast. It is only now, three years later, that I can appreciate what we all accomplished. It came at a great personal cost and so many of us are gone forever, but how many people can live a better life, hopefully for generations to come? It was worth it.

* * *

The afternoon arrives quicker than I like and we kiss goodbye. He walks down the road of the Victor's Village alone as I watch him leave from my porch. I told him I couldn't stand seeing him leave from the platform like I did in the summer, because it hurt too much. I didn't tell him that I don't want the townsfolk to see us together and give Peeta a hard time about it, shooting down all the effort I made so far. I have to pretend again, make play for appearances. Will it ever stop? Apparently not.

As if sensing that I'm pretty vulnerable this evening and on the brink of turning to my pill box, Haymitch pays me a visit, bringing apple pie.

"Freshly from Peeta Mellark's oven", he tells me and grins as he cuts it into two pieces. I make us some coffee and Haymitch stays, making sure I eat every last crumb of the pie.

"You and Gale sure had a good time, huh?" he says, eyes twinkling.

"What? Why?", I ask slightly alarmed. The windows were closed, Haymitch couldn't have heard a thing. I'm not that loud and Gale isn't either.

"Take a look in the mirror," Haymitch chuckles. I stand up and walk over to the wardrobe mirror. Even though it is dark I can make out a deep red mark on my throat. I blush crimson when I realize that Gale left a hickey on my throat last night. I return to the kitchen, still blushing and too embarrassed to look at Haymitch. He bursts into a laughing fit.

"You're so precious, Sweetheart," Haymitch is too amused at my distress. "You're almost glowing. No wonder, Peeta burned half of his bread today!"

I perk up at that.

_You look beautiful this morning._

He saw. He must have.

"I'm glad that you two made up, you know," Haymitch says, still smiling slightly, "Life in the Victor's Village is just so much better when you're not ignoring each other. We could even have dinner together. Once a week, what do you say?"

I want to refuse. I also want to tell Haymitch that we didn't really make up. Our exchanges are strictly business. I want cheese buns, he gives them to me, I give him money in return. Sometimes we talk about the weather. Yes, we're back to telling each other the real deep stuff.

"The boy needs a break once in a while. Meeting you might be the only way to get him out of that wretched bakery! Your dear old mentor wouldn't mind some company during these long winter nights either," Haymitch continues, clearly trying to convince me. He takes my silence as a sign of approval when I don't answer.

Should I tell Haymitch that I plan to move away as soon as my banishment is lifted? I'm not sure he would like that. To please him, I oblige the dinner idea. Besides Peeta should get out more or he will die by overworking himself.

* * *

As soon as Gale is back in Two I start my new project: Writing letters to the government.

Every week one letter goes to each of the ministers and one letter to the presidential office. Most of them are directed at Plutarch Heavensbee. He knows me best and I feel like he owes me.

Offended that, after a whole month of letter writing, no answer finds its way to the red letter box, I step up my game and write three letters a week. Plutarch shouldn't ignore me like this, but he doesn't seem to agree that we two have unfinished business. I complain about this to Gale on several occasions, however he claims that he is unable to help me. Just insists I shouldn't give up and swears that he pesters Plutarch and Paylor as well.

Did Peeta feel that frustrated when he got no replies? He still doesn't know that I didn't read his letters and continued to write. While I don't burn the letters anymore, I hide them away in an old shoebox in the store room. Reading these letters is one last step I'm afraid to take.

After New Year's, when the nights are slowly getting shorter, Haymitch, Peeta and I begin to take turns cooking dinner every Friday night, starting with Haymitch. Being in Peeta's house and in turn, having him sit at my kitchen table, takes a while to get used to. Peeta and I don't say much, while Haymitch never shuts up. Funny how that turned out, but I'm grateful. We did this a lot after the rebellion, it almost feels like back in these days when we were planning the bakery. The Victor's trio of Twelve is back in action and it is like we never parted. It is easy to get used to the company and I have to remind myself to be careful not to enjoy Fridays too much.

When I returned to Twelve I fell into depression. With only old Greasy Sae to keep me company I had a hard time managing to get into some sort of routine. Haymitch couldn't help, he had to fight his own demons and swore off the white liquor during these days. Busy with making sure he would survive himself, he couldn't look after another traumatised war survivor. I don't blame him for that.

Peeta returned a few weeks later. I wasn't quite sure about how I felt. How he felt. But from the day he planted the primrose bushes in my garden my life started to take a positive turn. I allowed myself to grieve for Prim and all that I'd gone through. Somehow, with Peetas's return, hope had found its way into my heart. I saw the beauty in the sunset, enjoyed the sounds of the woods, tasted fresh bread and didn't think that life was so awful after all. Peeta and I spent a lot of time together working on the plans for the town's reconstruction and his bakery. It was his dream to rebuild it and whenever he spoke of his ambition his eyes began to sparkle.

I felt these sparkling eyes on me more than just once. He always looked away quickly when I returned the gaze, hiding behind his blonde locks. I wasn't stupid. Peeta had always been pretty obvious about it. I hadn't forgotten his hopeful remark to Gale in Tigris' shop. Even shortly after the hijacking, he still had been hopeful that I would choose him. He never gave up.

Peeta has many faults, being fickle is not one of them. He was persistant to fight for my love, despite having hijacking nightmares of mutt-me killing his family and destroying our home. Fortunately the episodes stopped completely after he returned to Twelve. At least that was what Peeta made me believe back then.

When we met, his gazes could be described as loving, needing. His eyes began to wander to my lips and that made it clear. Peeta wanted to kiss me. We even came close one evening in the bakery, but were rudely interrupted by Haymitch, whom we both had forgotten was in attendance as well. Surely the opportunity for _real_ kissing was just around the corner.

From that evening on Peeta and me coming together was certainly only a matter of time. We would have a real romantic relationship for our own sake and not for the cameras, or so I thought. I didn't think of Gale once during these days. My heart had chosen after all. And it wasn't so much choosing, more a natural progress going as far back as the Quarter Quell. If I had died in the clock arena, I would have died as a girl in love.

* * *

It is Friday at the end of January when my turn for dinner has arrived. I shot a stag last week and still have some left that I didn't sell. Marinated venison with dried herbs from the woods is Haymitch's favourite and Peeta is neither stingy when it comes to complimenting my cooking nor is he a picky eater.

Shortly after midday I'm preparing the marinade in the kitchen as the sound of the mail man posting letters demands my attention. I dash to the front door and see him walking his way in the direction of town. Opening up the red letter box I instantly spot the official looking one, in between three other letters. I flip it around and my heart starts beating faster. The letter is marked with a seal from The Secretary of Communications. The sender is Plutarch Heavensbee!

I rip it open. It is not a handwritten letter, it seems like someone wrote it on an electric typewriter. They write that it is nice to hear from me, the minister always likes to hear what the citizens think, to understand that the minister cannot answer each letter personally and that he looks forward to more feedback regarding his work soon.

The content is remarkably impersonal. They basically tell me nothing. Or perhaps they do. They tell me that I'm not important enough to warrant a real answer, an honest examination of my request. Did Plutarch really write this or is Fulvia is to blame for that pile of inanities?

A scream of frustration leaves my mouth before I can stop myself. It echoes through the silence of the Victor's Village as I slump down on the front steps of my house. Hot tears of anger leave streaks on their way down my cheeks. I rip into the letter, wanting to destroy it, making chortling sounds.

"Katniss, Katniss, what's happened? Are you alright?" Peeta is kneeling beside me with lifted arms and twitching hands.

I look up at him through a veil of tears. He seems to be weighing his options. To take me into his arms or to leave me. At this moment I want nothing more than to be comforted by him. A burning desire to hug him overcomes me. Why does he have to appear now? When I am at my weakest? I fight hard to control myself and stand up. Peeta follows suit and I wipe the tears away.

"Bad news, huh?" he asks with a hesitant look at the remains of Plutarch's letter.

"Uh, uh," I reply. "Why are you here this early?"

I'm having a sense of deja vu. A dreadful one.

"Oh, business was a bit slow today, so I thought I'd close early up and help you with dinner. If you'd like. I could peel potatoes or something. Maybe cut the vegetables and..."

"Do you remember the night Buttercup died?" I interrupt him. An unexpected need to talk about it overwhelms me. He is taken aback. I'm sure he didn't expect this from me, not now.

"I am...I'm not...I mean, I don't think...maybe we should go inside?" he stutters, pointing to the door. I ignore his suggestion.

It had been early fall and the nights were still warm in that year. That year of the rebellion and after we rebuilt Mellark's Bakery.

"Funny, isn't it? Looks like were standing in the exact same position as then," I look around, a mean crazy laugh stuck in my throat.

Peeta looks flushed, alarm reflected in his eyes. A mad desire to make him relive the death of Prim's beloved pet overwhelms me.

"Oh, poor Buttercup. That was a nightmare, wasn't it?" The edge in my voice is mean, cutting. It almost sounds like I'm the hijacked one.

"Buttercup was such a lucky cat. Survived the bombing of Twelve. Survived the bombing of Thirteen. And even made it back here. Then the luck ran out. When he licked up that venom, it must have been fate, you know? Why survive all this only to be poisoned? Tough luck. But then the odds have never been in our favor, right? Why should Buttercup be the exception?"

"Katniss, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, about that night. I just couldn't...there was so much that happened and...it was just too much...too fast..."

To Peeta's credit, he hasn't fled. Yet. He even tried to justify his actions. I'm impressed.

"Yes, it was too much, too much for you. Too much for me, too much for all of us. But, you know, someone had to do it. And that was going to be me after all."

* * *

I had killed before, I had killed in the arena, I had killed during the rebellion and I sent Coin into death with my arrow.

Why did the killing of Buttercup weigh so heavy on my heart? It made no sense, I attempted to drown him once before, after all. Killed dozens of animals during my hunts. In the grand scheme of things Buttercup was not that important.

Perhaps the answer is more simple. The night I killed Buttercup initiated the beginning of the end of my relationship with Peeta. Up until that point I felt safe around him, comforted and almost happy. Believing I could always count on him. That night proved me wrong.

I had been asleep, having a horrendous nightmare of the mutts of the first arena chasing me around the training center in the Capitol, while a crowd of bloodied Seneca Crane dummies cheered them on.

A terrible screeching noise woke me up. Dream and reality shifted when the screeching didn't stop. It sounded like a baby crying out. But there were no children in the Victor's Village. A sense of foreboding that something horrible would occur paralyzed me to the bed for a minute. The wailing didn't stop and I quickly put on my dressing gown and went downstairs.

The noise was coming from the front of the house. I opened the front door and immediately made out a small dark lump in the twilight of early morning. As I drew nearer the outline of a ginger furball became visible. The bleeding form of a cat could be seen, lying on the floor, making those horrible noises. There was so much foam around his muzzle that I couldn't make out his mashed-out nose. I stepped into bloody puddles of vomit. He must've fed on something poisonous.

That hideous cat called Buttercup had become an important part of my life here in Twelve, I even made a habit of letting him rest in my bed, stroking his fluffy fur. His purring became some sort of lullaby, helping me find sleep. And now my last link to the little duck was having a death struggle on my door step. I could feel my heart breaking, knowing what would happen. But a fight with death like this could take hours, I'd seen it before.

"Spit it out, Buttercup, spit it out!" I went down to my knees took the little body in my hands to see what I could do to prevent, what I knew wasn't to be prevented.

"For her, please, don't give up!" I couldn't let him die like this. The pain must have been unbearable.

"Katniss, Katniss, what's happened? Are you alright?" Peeta appeared next to my kneeling form. He must have heard Buttercup's yowling.

"Peeta, you must get me my gun! Get me my shot gun, will you? It is next to the door in the store room, do you understand?" I gripped his arm tightly, but still kept my eyes on Buttercup, caressing the poor small creature. I got some weapons for making the hunt a bit easier after the rebellion. The shot gun was one of them.

"What? Katniss, no!" Peeta's voice was high laced with panic.

"What are you waiting for? Get it now!" I didn't look up, still cradling Buttercup in my hands, my dressing gown ruined with Buttercup's bloody retchings.

"No," he said. I finally looked up at him, annoyed at his continued refusal, fearing the worst. But no signs of an episode could be seen.

"Fine then," I laid Buttercup down gently and ran into the house to get the gun. Peeta was still standing there when I returned, looking confused. I didn't know what his problem was, and honestly didn't care at that moment. Only one thing counted. To relieve Buttercup from his pain, to make him pass as fast and easy as possible. I didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger.

* * *

I shake my head to clear away the images of that horrible night. Peeta is still standing beside me, hands twitching, blinking rapidly.

"Please, let us go inside. We can talk about Buttercup, if you want," he swallows.

The urge to lash out at him is gone, replaced only by grief and sadness. I nod and we enter the house. I don't know what to say, what to do.

I want to forgive him, but he hurt me badly. He didn't help me with cleaning up or burying Buttercup. He just stared at me like I was some sort of monster. I didn't know what was going through his mind. That was truly the worst part. He always had been so open with me, open with his feelings. Then he opted to shut down without any explanation or whatsoever.

Peeta had seen me kill many times before, even the mercy kill that was Cato. That night the boy I loved hurled insults at me that I would never forget and I am still not sure I can forgive. Calling me a vicious murderer, disgusting and deadly were the nicest of the bunch. He told me that he despised me. It was like mutt-Peeta had returned. I tried to find solace in the fact that this must have been the hijacking talking, that Peeta didn't really feel this way about me. He loved me, everyone said so. I believed it myself. But he remained cold and dismissive and at that started to avoid me.

Refusing to give up on him though, I went to his house, to the bakery and tried my best to get him talk to me, talk about what made him close up. I gave him time and thought he might recover and come round. I wasn't used to being ignored and didn't understand what kind of game he was playing. I certainly didn't plan on letting him get rid of me that easily.

Two weeks after Buttercup died, another death in District Twelve destroyed whatever I thought I still had with Peeta. Greasy Sae, the woman from the Hob, who had been looking after me for so long, died of a stroke.

I thought I'd suffered enough loss for a life time by then and could barely hold myself up at the funeral. Haymitch offered to take me home, but I didn't want Haymitch, I wanted Peeta. He had attended the funeral as well, comforting Greasy Sae's granddaughter. I begged him to come home with me, after dizziness made me faint. He told me in unambiguous words that he didn't want to and went the other way. All I needed had been some warmth and comfort, but Peeta gave me the cold shoulder instead.

I had not only lost a dear friend who had been like a mother to me, I had also lost the one I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. After the funeral I didn't make any effort to reach out to him anymore and began to shun him as well. I didn't bruise easily, thought myself pretty tough, but he abandoned me when I needed him the most. I had survived without Peeta Mellark before, I could do it again.

* * *

We prepare dinner and don't talk much. I don't have the energy to address the night of Buttercup's death. He suggested we talk about it, but I spent too many hours brooding about it and its aftermath.

There is a much more urgent problem, I need to face instead. Thinking of the past won't change a thing, I have to think about my future. So Plutarch Heavensbee thinks he can ignore me? I swear, I will make him regret this. I make a mental note to ask Gale for Fulvia Cardew's contacts and Plutarch's private address. I will call them and I will continue to write these letters until my fingers start bleeding.

While we put the plates on the table Peeta says, "Katniss, I need you to know how happy you made me, when you came to the bakery a few weeks ago."

I shrug and grab a third set of cutlery for Haymitch.

"I think, well, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm so glad you read my letters. Reaching out to you wasn't easy, but I understand now why you like to write. Writing letters, the words suddenly started coming back to me, and I can barely stop once I start. I...uhm, acted strangely that night with Buttercup, but like I told you in the letters, the hijacking..."

"It doesn't matter," I interrupt, "Yes, you acted _strangely_, if you want to put it that way. It's in the past now. Cannot be undone, the words cannot be unspoken. It is okay, I'm over it."

I see that Peeta wants to explain more, tell me more of his reasons, but I'm not in the mood. He senses that as well. Albeit the silence between us is not as uncomfortable as it was in the beginning of our dinner arrangement. As we wait for Haymitch, I wonder what Peeta will make of me leaving District Twelve. He is stuck here with the bakery investment. Strange, no one banished him, he came back and stayed because he actually wanted to. Twelve is home, it means something to him. He doesn't see it as being stuck, like I do.

"Do you...I mean, are you a couple now? You and Gale?" Peeta looks at his plate not meeting my eyes. It's a similar question to the one he asked in Thirteen, but not as spiteful. The answer is different this time.

"You already know that, Peeta," I answer softly.

He nods and glances at the kitchen clock, "Yeah, I guess, I do."

More silence follows.

Then, "Do you think we can be friends again?"

There is the faintest hint of pleading in his voice. I would've missed it if I didn't know him so well.

I have nothing to lose. I will never let him hurt me again, he won't be able to. And I don't want to part from Peeta with any bad blood left between the two of us.

Feeling at peace, I can't help but smile.

"I would like that very much."

Finally meeting my gaze, his eyes twitching slightly, he cracks a smile back at me.

Haymitch finds us digging into our food half an hour later. Complaining that we started without him, our old mentor makes a big scene, as Peeta and I both laugh at his pompous antics.

It seems the Victor's Trio of Twelve is back in action and it is like we never parted.


	4. Sender: Deanna Paylor

**IV. Sender: Deanna Paylor**

When spring arrives I add up about ten letters that came from several different government institutions. Plutarch or most likely Fulvia continued to send me letters with nonsensical content. The other ministers write back - stating that they aren't responsible. The president writes once, claiming that she will look into the issue and that I should be patient. I'm glad that this letter seems genuine. That Paylor - the president of Panem - knows me personally should amount to something.

Gale visits more regularly. He stayed two weeks at the end of February and another four days at the end of April. He still doesn't write much and the phone dates are difficult as well. While we enjoy our time with hunting, writing or just staying in bed, I often feel he is absent minded when he is with me. Thinking of other things, things that happen in District 2 or in the Capitol. When I ask he denies it. It makes me sad that he doesn't want to talk about it. It seems we're not sharing absolutely everything and that frustrates me. I want to know all about his daily life outside of District 12. If I know what his daily routine is, it will be easier for me to adapt later.

I have a lot of worries these days - I worry about the adjustment issues I might have when we start living together. I worry about finding a job that will keep me occupied. I certainly don't want to become some lazy girl who just waits for her partner to come home all day. Whenever I want to talk about these worries Gale changes the subject. I wonder why he is so closed up about it? We never talk about his work, the only topic that isn't Twelve or banishment related is his family. Does he think I'm too stupid to understand his problems?

Our partnership remains warm and loving, but when he visits in April we have an argument. Unfortunately it is about the topic I tried to avoid as much as I could. Peeta. Gale and I have been a couple for almost a year now and it is a wonder that it took so long for us to actually have this fight.

We walk back home to the Victor's Village after a long day in the woods. We were quite lucky with the hunt this afternoon and managed to shoot a boar that we drag home on a wooden plank, a self-made creation of Haymitch's.

"This boar is pretty big, I think we can afford to share it with others from town, don't you think?" Gale says, trying to find the shortest trail around a couple of thick bushes.

"Yes, I think so. But we could also sell it to the butcher to make some money," I answer, helping to push the boar up a little hill. While I still live on the money I got through winning the Hunger Games and my mother also sends me money regularly, I like to earn a bit myself and selling my game feels natural to me.

"I thought we might give it to Haymitch. Or Peeta," Gale pauses and draws a breath. "Actually I have to tell you something, Catnip. I went to the bakery earlier. To talk with him."

I stop and stare at Gale. Why would he do something like this? Without talking to me about it first? I bite my lip and try to stay calm.

"Is that so? Good for you, then," I say no more and start to push again. I don't want Gale to think I care about their conversation or that I'm curious about it.

"Yes. He seems to be working hard, all alone in that bakery. I asked him about his life and he seemed stressed, but okay. He was happy that I took the time to visit him. He even told me he got his episodes under control, so that's a relief, don't you think?"

Gale definitely wants to test me here, get some sort of reaction out of me. Did Peeta really talk to him about his episodes? I doubt that. His hijacking episodes are deeply personal to Peeta. He has a hard time talking about them, whether it is to me, Haymitch or even Dr. Aurelius. Why should he tell _Gale_ that his episodes are under control?

And are they really? I'm not sure about this. I haven't actually seen Peeta in that state which I would classify as an episode since the sewers of the Capitol. The night I shot Buttercup and the aftermath had been pure Peeta - without dilated pupils and crazy hair gripping. He didn't panic and there had been an eerie calmness about his behaviour. He certainly had been mean with his words, but it didn't feel like he wanted to hurt me physically.

"Yes, a great relief. Listen can we hurry it up a little? I want to be back in the Victor's Village before nightfall," I answer, eager to change the subject.

"No, Katniss. We won't hurry. I want to talk to you about Peeta right now. You don't get an out this time," Gale demands in an unstable voice.

I look at him, shocked. What is this? Why won't he pretend that Peeta doesn't exist like before? Why is he suddenly talking this way?

"Well, I don't want to talk about Peeta. I don't see why we should even have this conversation, Gale. Peeta is my neighbor and that's all there is to say about him," I state in what I hope is an authoritative tone.

"You told me about having dinner with Haymitch and Peeta every Friday. It is okay that you talk to him, Katniss. You don't have to pretend that you're only neighbors. It is natural that there is a bond between the two of you after all. Would you please stop pushing for a minute and look at me?"

I stop pushing and glare at him. There is this pressing look in his eyes today, forcing me to engage in this talk. I feel the familiar urge to flee when a conversation doesn't go the way I want it to. I shrug at Gale.

"Okay, Peeta is my neighbor and my friend. But not more. So why all this talk about him now? I just don't get it," I say jerkily.

"Because we need to talk about him. You and me Catnip, we are a couple. Peeta Mellark is standing between us like an elephant in the room. I am and I've been in love with you for a long time. That's why I was beyond happy when you kissed me and we started this wonderful relationship we have now."

His eyes turn sad, "You might think me stupid and unaware, but I'm not. I know that Peeta meant a lot to you before. And that he hurt you in some way."

I stare at him open mouthed. "I don't think you're stupid, Gale," I say in a small voice. I feel ashamed. He saw through me from the start, but was scared to say something, maybe fearing I would turn my back on him?

"It's just that I can't stand being your second choice, Catnip. I want to be with you, but not when you actually want to be with another. If you decided to come to me for any other reason than being in love with me, I just...I can hardly bear the thought. If we're a couple because he didn't want you anymore you must understand how much this hurts me."

I am speechless. I don't wish for a romantic relationship with Peeta. Not anymore, not after everything that happened. I must be careful, as Gale is obviously much better at reading me than I thought. I became overconfident in my ability to fool people. It might work on strangers, but Gale knows me so well. Too well. I swallow and try to answer as honestly as possible.

"Well, yes, Peeta did mean something to me. We helped each other after the rebellion, rebuilding our lives here in Twelve. But there was never any romance, I swear. You're the one I love."

Gale gives me a long look and then slowly says, "Why did you stop talking to each other? And don't give me that stupid story about having nothing in common. I want know the real reason. Peeta didn't want to tell me, so I suspect it is because one of you rejected the other or something."

I'm slowly getting very irritated and angry. Gale has been talking to Peeta about me! How dare he? I'm thankful that Peeta kept quiet though, obviously also uncomfortable about talking about our very private issues with Gale. I need to calm down. If I react too angry at his accusations it will only make me look guilty. And I'm not guilty.

"Listen Gale, I don't know what Peeta told you. But there is and was nothing, nothing at all between us after the rebellion. He was never my choice and you know that you were my first. I'm sorry if you're insecure about this, but it is the truth."

I sigh and then decide I have to tell Gale something about why Peeta and I fell out.

"You know, I don't know exactly what happened between the two of us. But Peeta kept his distance after the war. He told me he needed space. Well that's it. I followed his wishes. It has nothing to do with romance, rejection or other sappy stuff like you imagine. Sorry to disappoint. We meet again because Peeta and Haymitch are friends. They also share a bond. I don't want to be left out when it comes to the former victors here in Twelve. And Peeta seems okay with it, if he only sees me sporadically. That's all. Are you happy now?"

Gale nods. "I am. I am happy that you're finally more honest with me. That wasn't too hard now, was it? I'm sorry, but I just had to ask. It's been on my mind and we needed to have this talk, trust me."

I start to push the boar again and we continue to make our way back home. I feel glad that we talked about it, too. It is like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don't have to avoid the topic anymore, don't have to be that careful when it comes to mentioning Peeta. Some questions I only answered vaguely, but to me these are too personal. If things aren't clear between Peeta and me why should I tell Gale about it? It is only natural to have some smaller arguments in a relationship, I guess. I shouldn't worry too much as we don't talk about Peeta for the rest of Gale's stay in District 12.

* * *

Peeta, Haymitch and I continue having dinner together. It is so much fun that I wonder how I could have done without it. All three of us seem to look forward to Friday night and flourish - enjoying the company. Some days we don't even talk that much, enjoying a nice friendly silence. Living through a trauma like the Hunger Games together makes us have that bond that Gale was talking about. No one but the three of us can understand it, I think.

We're having a nice meal at Peeta's one evening in May, when Haymitch asks Peeta about a recipe for a three-course dinner. He inquires after strawberry tarts with a vanilla custard-filling that Peeta brought over last week.

"Don't worry about the recipe Haymitch, I can make these quickly if you like them so much. I can bring a few over next week to Katniss'", Peeta smiles at Haymitch who looks flustered.

"No, I want to make them myself. I'd really like the recipe, if it isn't a bakery family secret your dear old granny passed onto your father or something," Haymitch says. Peeta and I exchange glances. This is weird. While Haymitch is not a bad cook, he doesn't seem to enjoy the actual cooking part of our dinner arrangements that much. He usually prefers doing the dishes and that is saying something.

"No, no. If it means so much to you, I'll write it down later," Peeta says and starts to put the dishes away, while I wonder about this ominous Granny Mellark. I never even thought of Peeta's grandparents. Were they still alive when the bombs fell? I don't want to spoil the mood so I don't ask, but I don't remember anything about the older generation of the Mellark family. My own folks were long gone before I was born, even my mother's parents. When Greasy Sae made it past 80, that was a remarkable feat for a seam woman, so what about Peeta's grandparents, people from the merchant class?

I decide to investigate later and turn to Haymitch, "Why the sudden interest in cake, Haymitch? Did you discover you have a sweet tooth after all?" I grin at him and he mutters something I don't catch, looking bothered.

"How's the bakery, boy?" Haymitch ignores me and looks at Peeta who is preparing tea at the sink. Interesting. Haymitch changes the topic and is pretty obvious about it. There must be more to it. A lot of things to look into here in Twelve. When you're as bored as I am every distraction is welcome.

"It is pretty good, strangely enough," Peeta is beaming at us.

"Actually," he says a bit sheepishly and then turns around to collect the tray," I was in a bit of a slump for a while, but now things are looking much better. I've got some new costumers and old timers who returned to the shop."

"That's great, Peeta. But no wonder, quality prevails," Haymitch winks at me. These are good news. Oh, how predictable they are here in Twelve. I wink back, happy that we managed to turn the tables before it was too late. Peeta remains clueless.

"What are you planning to do for the summer festival?" Haymitch asks, putting sugar into his cup.

"Oh, I don't know if I will participate. So much to do, you know," Peeta says, circling around his saucer with one finger.

"What is that all about? Summer festival?" I look at them, confused.

"Sweetheart, you really should get out more," Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me. "The summer festival at the end of May is everything people talk about. They even advertise it in other districts. Many people are expected to come."

I scratch my head. I really didn't hear a thing about this.

"And what is this all about? What does actually happen at this festival?" I ask.

"It's just a normal festival with some sort of fun fair for the kids. And the local businesses will all participate, with stalls where they offer their goods and creations. It's been in the planning for months Katniss!" Haymitch looks at me as if I live on the moon.

"Well, I don't have a business, so nobody told me," I shrug.

"True. But our dear mayor, that old bugger Garland, I wonder why he didn't invite you personally, as a main attraction. You could sing or hold some heroic speech, yeah, that would be a real hit." When Haymitch talks like this I suspect he is still drinking in secret. It is not funny, not at all, and I guess it shows on my face. Haymitch doesn't even look guilty and then turns his attention back to Peeta.

"Peeta, you have to participate. Present some small pastries, cakes or waffles to the visitors for free. I swear, they will never want to visit Walner's Bakery again after they tasted them. I can build you a stall if you want," Haymitch looks smug. "It won't be as grand as my own of course, as I have been planning this one for a long time." Our mentor certainly doesn't lack self-confidence.

Peeta is shaking his head, "I'd love to but it's impossible, Haymitch. I have to manage the shop and I just don't have the time to prepare for the festival and attend the stall. It's been tough since El and Cora went back. I can't manage without help."

"How indeed..." Haymitch looks at me, "I can't help you out, because of my workshop. I need new customers as much as any business owner around. There are other people available though. Lazying around all day. Maybe some cute girl from the neighborhood could help an old friend out?"

I sigh. How could I have not seen that one coming?

Peeta eyes dart around the room seemingly looking everywhere but not at me. I thought he would immediately refuse. The Peeta from two years ago would have. Surprisingly he doesn't say a word. Does he want me to help out? I have a hard time imagining that.

"What would that girl from next door have to do?" I try to catch his gaze.

"Well, mostly sales related stuff. I'm busy in the back and when I have to worry about selling and the costumers, I cannot concentrate on baking. Thing is, I only made basic bread dough lately. I'd like to expand, make more cakes with more complex layers and frosting."

"Ah, okay..." I respond, unsure about this. Sales? I think I'm probably the worst sales person around. I don't like people and suck at small talk.

"You could also help baking, if you'd prefer that," he offers. I stay silent.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Please tell me what are you doing all day long? You're bored out of your mind and Peeta needs a helping hand. As you're familiar with the bakery that should count as work experience! He has to pay a nice big salary! You can use that money to expand your stationary collection."

I glare at Haymitch. Peeta's financial situation is still glum, I know that for a fact. He cannot afford an assistant. Haymitch is well aware of that, he told me himself. He is right on one thing though, I know my way around the bakery. We planned the whole building together after all.

"I will help you out, Peeta. At the counter or in the back, I don't mind. You don't have to pay me, but this is temporary only until the festival is over, okay?" I cannot let them think this will be a permanent deal. Peeta would be in trouble when I leave.

"Yes, yes. No problem. This is really nice of you. Thank you!" Peeta breaks into a big smile. He looks like his biggest wish has come true. I'm confused. Why is he so ecstatic about this?

* * *

It is past midnight when we we make to leave Peeta's house. Haymitch is already out of the door when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm. I shrink back, surprised at his touch.

"Katniss, can you stay for a minute?"

"Sure, what is it?" I calm down, no longer feeling the panic I felt at being alone with him before. It is almost comfortable in a nostalgic kind of way.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I don't expect it."

"Oh..."

"I am grateful that you will help me out, really I am. But if you feel like Haymitch forced you into it, that you don't have a choice, then that would be wrong."

"No. Peeta, don't worry. It is not like that."

"I hope you won't get into trouble. We're going to be working closely together and if at any time you don't feel like it anymore, just say the word. Don't feel obligated to stay."

I am a bit confused at whom I would get into trouble with about helping him out. Gale? Peeta knows that I'm my own person and I don't let anyone dictate me around and naturally he should have no idea that I had that argument with Gale about him. If I want to work at the bakery, I will work at the bakery. I'm more worried about Peeta's ominous hijacking flashbacks. Do they still happen? I think I can handle him, but how can he be sure they won't be coming back? But he knows himself best in the end. I assume he feels secure enough around me or he wouldn't have asked for this particular favor.

"I promise, I won't. Don't think too much about it. We're friends, right? I want to do this for you. And as much as I do hate to admit it, I turned a bit lazy. Haymitch is right, some days I'm bored out of my mind. Helping you out, is helping myself out," I chuckle.

"That's great! Well, not that you're bored, but that you will help. I can't thank you enough." He looks at his watch.

"Gotta go to bed here. I'm too lazy to walk back. A baker's life is not that easy." He waves goodbye and I leave for my house. I'm sure Haymitch has his own agenda for suggesting I work with Peeta. I just don't feel like fighting anymore. I think Peeta and me are in a good place at the moment. That we're having so much fun together is like a little miracle after everything that's happened. It won't hurt me to help Peeta out and maybe give his bakery one last push back into former glory. I'm sure the townsfolk, sans Henry, will love it if I work as a shop girl over there. Peeta is obviously over whatever issues he had with me. I'm still not sure why he feels more than okay with my company at the moment. That leaves me a bit baffled, but I don't spend much thought on it.

I will write to Gale about our arrangement tomorrow. I have to be more open with Gale, and I'm not going to keep this a secret from him. I'm honestly kind of looking forward to the job and about having something to keep me occupied other than hunting and letter writing. It would be more fun at the front with Coraline still around, but I can't be picky. It's the least I can do for Peeta. I will do everything I can to help while I still hold that power here in Twelve.

* * *

Having Peeta decide that he wants to take part in the festival on such short notice has us rotating like a headless chicken. The festival is only two weeks away and Haymitch must start on Peeta's stall immediately if he wants to get it done in time. I begin my new job behind the sales counter a week before the festival. The customers who come to get their daily bread all look almost as shocked as Peeta did when I first reappeared in the bakery. The Mockingjay is working at Mellark's! The news spread like wildfire through our small community. Peeta notices a big increase of customers starting that day.

I grin to myself as I imagine Henry fuming in his bakery right now. While I'm also at fault some part of me wants to blame Henry for Elmar and Coraline's leaving. Why did that guy have to open a bakery in District 12 of all places? Everyone knows this is Mellark territory. It might be mean, but I hope he is the one who has to close his shop and that maybe Elmar and Coraline will be able to return.

Two days later the customer stream evens out and we can plan accordingly, while Peeta gently instructs me on how he wants things done. He is so thankful that I do this for him, that it seems to make him afraid of ordering me around. Perhaps thinking I'll leave if he isn't careful with me. I'm having no such worries. It isn't hard at all and when the third day rolls around I am confident that I have to take things into my own hands. Weirdly enough I'm a much tougher business person than Peeta, who works better when he is focusing on the creativity of pastry making.

There hasn't been a customer for about five minutes when I decide to check in on him. He is in the back, experimenting on some rainbow colored cupcake frosting for the festival. The smell in the bakery is delicious - mouth watering. Peeta has a look of deep concentration etched on his face. He is biting on his tongue as he works on the cupcakes. It reminds me of the way he looked when he first created the camouflage in the training center.

"Peeta," I say and he looks up at me. "Do you have a second? I'd like to talk to you." There are a few things that have been bugging me and I must change them before my short time here will be over.

"Yes, of course. I'm so sorry, Katniss. I didn't realize it is so late already. Do you want to take a break? I can close the shop and I can make us some baguettes, if you'd like." He puts the frosting away and smiles at me.

"Hmm, I'd rather we leave the shop open, although I am quite hungry. I can stop eating when a customer comes, so go ahead, do your magic," Peeta mumbles another short apology my way and washes some tomatoes for the baguettes.

"How is it going at the front? I'm sorry, if it is a bit dirty on the ground. I only had time to do a short sweep through this morning."

"Peeta please don't be so formal with me and would you stop apologizing? You can tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it without complaint. Saying you're sorry all the time is irritating," I say teasingly and he gulps a short "Okay" in my direction. I lean against the table and watch him cut some fresh basil leaves.

"I have a few suggestions, would you like to hear them?" I remind myself that I have to ask him about this first. It is Peeta's bakery after all.

Peeta flushes and nods, "Of course, yes. I'm sorry" he smiles, "Uh, I apologized again, didn't I ? I have no idea how to stop it."

I laugh at that.

"Well, I think you should leave the shop open over midday. Even if there aren't that many customers it doesn't make sense to close it, as long as I'm here. And whatever you're baking we should definitely put some cakes in the display window. That makes passersby enter the shop, and those who enter will definitely buy," I start to pace around "Since it is warm, we should open the door, the scent of freshly baked bread will attract more customers. We can also put some some chairs and small tables out at the front. That makes it all look more inviting. But the most important thing are your prices, Peeta. You have to raise your prices!"

I give him a look and then put my hand over my mouth. I'm surprised at myself and shocked about how much I care for the bakery. Peeta has put the baguette in the oven and stares at me, like he isn't sure how to respond. Now it is my turn to blush. How rude this must sound coming from me. I'm here for two days and take over the reins as if I have any rights to this place. I wonder if it's my turn to apologize when Peeta starts to speak.

"Oh. Well, that all sounds pretty convincing. Why not? If you...I mean, would you help me with the pricing? I'm not exactly sure how much I should take to make a profit at the end of the day."

I nod and he looks at me with that familiar awe and I feel warmth spreading through my body. Uh, uh. Not this again.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Katniss, but right now you remind me a bit of my mother," he adds. Luckily that comment has the effect of a cold shower.

"What? That doesn't sound like a compliment," I say. His mother? I still refer to her as the witch in my mind. This woman beat Peeta. Could there be a more unflattering comparison?

"She wasn't all bad, you know. Knew her numbers and the customers. She was a genius when it came to accounting. I only ever learned to bake from my father. Nobody told me how to manage a business. As the third son, they probably thought it futile to teach me as I wouldn't have succeeded them anyway." I never gave it that much thought, but Peeta is right. Being the third son from a merchant family had that really been the fortunate position I always assumed it was? What kind of job would he have gotten after school? Had he been a girl they could have married him off into another merchant business. As a boy he was practically worthless to his family. Just another mouth to feed.

"When I reopened the bakery Cora kept the books. I only had to bake and basically didn't trouble myself with the rest. Now that I do it by myself and cannot give a hundred percent on each task, I'm afraid the quality of my bread suffered. I can't blame the people that they stayed away." He looks thoughtful. Is he really clueless that I'm partly to blame for his troubles? If he has no idea, I certainly won't tell him.

"Your bread is still as good as ever, don't worry about that," I reassure him as he hands me one of the cheese, basil and tomato baguettes he just created. I blow on the still hot baguette and have a small bite. It tastes exquisite and a small moan of pleasure leaves me. I love Peeta's creations.

He finally stopped apologizing and his voice is steady when he says, "It's great that you're here now, helping me, Katniss. The last days two days were amazing. We're having so much fun, don't you think?"

I look at him and he is biting into his baguette while his blue eyes sparkle at me with happiness. The good mood I felt just a second ago suddenly leaves me. Just now - even if it was for a short moment - everything felt so normal between us. Like it did before he shut me out. I curse at myself as I simply forgot what had happened and let my guard down. It is wrong to be laughing together like this and it needs to stop. I need to protect myself.

"Well, I'm here now, but not for long. I won't be able to help you after the festival is over, you know that," I say hastily. He shouldn't get the wrong idea. "In fact, I should probably get started on the pricing soon. I don't know how long I'll remain in Twelve after the festival."

Peeta's smiling face falls a little as he looks at me, "What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?"

"Yep," I say looking into his eyes, "I didn't tell Haymitch yet so please keep it to yourself. I have been planning it for months. I need a change and it needs to happen before I die of old age. I will leave District 12. I'll be moving to District 2."

"No," Peeta says loudly, his eyes wide open, "No, you can't!" He shakes his head and throws his half eaten baguette back onto his plate, producing a clattering sound. I frown.

"Yes, I can. And I will. I want to be with Gale and I'm going to sell my house here in the Victor's Village. Should fetch a good price as the former home of the Mockingjay. Maybe they can use it as a tourist attraction."

Peeta looks aghast at my words and all the lightness of the day seems to have vanished. I got what I wished for as that familiar feeling overwhelms me. The need to be mean and to say hurtful things to Peeta, similar to that night when I received Plutarch's first letter. This need comes from a dark place, deeply buried within myself and only rears its ugly head when I'm alone with him. It terrifies me. When I let them, these thoughts start to consume me entirely.

I feel aggressive, wanting to start a fight with him, but his expression becomes empty. He turns away from me and says, "If you say so." Seems like Peeta has no intention of letting himself be provoked by me.

He lets out a small weary sigh and adds, "You know where the books are, Katniss. You can take them home with you, if you like. And you can decorate the bakery however you want. I'm going to continue to work on the cupcakes now."

I recognize a dismissal when I hear it and so I finish my baguette and return to the shop, preparing to change the things I suggested, starting with opening the front door. He got over the news of me leaving pretty quickly. I'm sure when the bakery is back to its former glory he won't miss me and that's only natural. We ignored each other for years. He will not even notice that I'm gone. Nothing will change in his daily life, so Peeta has absolutely no reason to begrudge me my move into a better future. Sighing I sell two muffins to a little blonde boy who looks at me through huge blue eyes, his expression totally captivated. I wish Peeta all the best for his life and the bakery and should be mature enough to keep the anger I obviously still harbor against him to myself. It won't be long.

* * *

Eventually Friday night arrives. The festival will be held over the weekend and the stands must be put up on the town square on the night before. Haymitch is in an awful hurry as he dumps a couple of boards and shelves on the space on the corner of the road to Mellark's Bakery. Peeta decided to put his stall here for practical reasons. We can run over to the bakery quickly to keep the supplies coming.

"Building it is self-explanatory," Haymitch says and we can only stare at him. "Don't look at me like that! You are victors of the Hunger Games, this should be child's play. You're not the only ones who are busy this night, you know!" And with that he is walking over to his own stall which I locate on the opposite side of the town square. I dumbly stare after him. He is greeting a woman who wears her bushy red hair in a ponytail. She might be around my mother's age or maybe a littler older, wears a white overall and has a drill in her hand. I think I've seen her in town before, but I'm not entirely sure about it. She laughs at something Haymitch says as they search for something in his tool-box together.

"Do you have any idea, if this is the ceiling or the floor? And where does this big one go?" asks Peeta who is already trying to figure out Haymitch's construction. I turn around and sigh. I know I can probably build it up without Haymitch's help. Watching him in his workshop for long hours during the winter made me pretty crafty, even if I say so myself.

"Who is that woman Haymitch is talking to, Peeta?" I ask, as I begin to sort through the separate parts. Peeta looks over at the two of them and then back at me, flabbergasted.

"That's Ermengarde Leger. District 12's doctor. She's been here since we've rebuilt the inner town. Don't you remember?" I shake my head. I don't go to the doctor. I know that Twelve has a new doctor and that she has a practice here near the town square. I never went to see her, because it made me think of my mother. And thinking of my mother made me think of Prim.

"She's nice and competent. You should make an appointment when you have the time. She wants to know each resident and their medical history. That way she can help faster in an emergency situation." Peeta then turns his attention to a redundant screw. "There is one too many, how is that even possible?"

"This screw belongs over there where the little red x is, can you see?" I point to a smaller board to Peeta's left.

"So, Ermengarde Leger it is. The doctor. Haymitch is such a sly dog. Well, I feel kind of dirty. It is like realizing your parents actually have sex," I chuckle.

Peeta almost looses his grip on the hammer he has been holding and gives me a look that is just unintentionally funny. Like he can't believe that I actually have a sense of humor and said that. He shakes his head.

"No way. Haymitch and Dr. Leger? He would've told me," he says.

"No, he wouldn't. He would be too embarrassed. Let's see. Does Dr. Leger come to the bakery?" I ask.

Peeta nods, "Yes, she actually comes every morning. Quite the loyal customer." I grin.

"That doesn't prove anything, Katniss." My grin is getting wider.

"Mr. Mellark," I say in a mock imitation of Caesar Flickerman's voice, "You know your customers preferences well. What is Ermengarde Leger's favorite cake?"

"She likes pastries with a vanilla custard filling. And her favorite fruits are strawberries," Peeta plays along. Ha. I knew it.

"Well, that's it. Haymitch had a dinner date with our dear doctor. They are a couple or at least Haymitch wants them to be!" I concur.

Peeta is looking at me weirdly. "You've changed. I don't remember you being that observant. And now with just one look you have figured Haymitch out."

Sure thing. Why wasn't I able to read him like an open book then? I shrug. "Haymitch isn't the best actor around. Come on, let's finish this quickly. I really need some sleep if I'm going to work all day tomorrow."

We build up the chunky parts together and then Peeta runs back to the bakery and leaves the precision work to me. He has a long night of preparing in front of him as the festival will last two days. I wave to Thom who passes the stand. The old crew of former miners is leaving for the meadow, preparing a firework that we will all enjoy tomorrow evening. I'm not sure if people really like that sort of thing after surviving several bombings, but who am I to judge? It might be fun.

* * *

The following day is the most stressful day I ever lived through after the war and I'm surprised that I don't freak out at all. Working in the bakery this week made me a bit more comfortable in handling people. It was a soft transition into the bees nest that Twelve transformed into today. There are so many people out and about, it cannot be only our residents. These are visitors from all over Panem! Grumbling to myself I think that this should have been the perfect opportunity for my mother to visit, but naturally she doesn't show up. I didn't invite her, however I'm certain she knew about this.

It soon becomes evident that Peeta's stall is one of the more popular ones and I know that it has to do with the me being here. More than once I hear whispers of _Look, it is Katniss Everdeen! _or _That girl with the braid is the Mockingjay!_ and I catch some people mumbling something about _star-crossed lovers_ as well. I bear it for Peeta. I still feel uncomfortable with people looking at me and pretend I don't feel their stares. I will never get used to it.

In the afternoon Peeta is filling up the shelves when a couple of teenage girls appear in front of the stand. I recognize one of them as the girl who works at the station shop, the one who always acts like we're best friends.

"What can we do for you?", I ask them. They giggle in synch and I notice they look very similar to each other. Each wears their straight blonde hair in a pair of pigtails that peek out under a white bandana. The one from the station says, "Hello Katniss. My name is Jacqueline and this is my sister Peatrice!" They both giggle some more.

"We just wondered whether you'd like to join us over at the meadow this evening? We will watch the the fireworks with a couple of friends and have prepared a little picnic and want to play some games." I feel thrown off guard by that sudden invitation so I look over to Peeta helplessly. They notice my look immediately.

"We'd also love you to join our party, Mr. Mellark" pipes up Peatrice and turns her attention to Peeta. _Mr. Mellark_? Why is Peeta Mr. Mellark and I am just Katniss? Peatrice waves to a young woman with brown wavy hair who is working at the tailor stall three stands to our left. "You're friends with Lace Bomull, right? She will also be there. You have to try our self-made lemonade and tell us what you think of it. We like to call it the best lemonade of Panem, but we need people with experience to confirm it!"

They look at me with vigor in their eyes and I know I have to think of something quickly. I don't want to join them, I had enough conversations with strangers for the whole year today. However I don't want to disappoint these two sisters for some reason, so I answer, "I'll think about it."

Jacqueline and Peatrice seem satisfied with that answer, buy two waffles from Peeta and leave. As I watch them walk over to the seamstress I feel a small lump in my throat. I think of Prim and of Madge Undersee and that there might be hope. Even with my limited social skills it should be possible to make new friends in District Two. Peeta, equally as friendless as me, should have no trouble making some more friends here in Twelve and he can start tonight I decide.

"You should join them in the meadow," I say and try to catch Peeta's gaze. He looks at his hands and then back at me. "What about you?"

"Uh, well you need someone to look after the stand or it'll be gone by tomorrow. Stolen by tourists who want some piece of the famous Mellark bakery. You need a skillful watchdog and that's me. I can watch the fireworks from here, that's the great thing about fireworks."

"Then I won't go," Peeta says and now I catch his gentle gaze, "I want to be with you."

_Peeta never stopped loving you._ The thought comes to me like a bright and blinding shooting star arising from the depths of my subconsciousness in this very moment. I always knew. That Peeta loves me is as certain as the sunrise. Not even the hijacking could destroy what is deeply ingrained in Peeta's heart. And still...I push the thought back to where it belongs, far away. This knowledge doesn't make me happy. It will just render me totally helpless and depressed about what happened between the two of us if I start to let it in.

"Let's go and watch it together then. I admit, I really want to know if theirs is the best lemonade of Panem. I do doubt this very much after all the luxuries of the Capitol," I say trying to act as if he hadn't said what he did. Peeta laughs and attends to another customer who is interested in the rainbow colored cupcakes. We've sold out for the day when Peeta sends me back home to change. He insists that I cannot go to the fireworks in my work attire and I agree with him.

* * *

I'm in high spirits and kind of looking forward to the party in the meadow when I run back home. I enter the Victor's Village to change into a nice summer dress. The sun is setting over the woods when I spot District Twelve's postman, Meredith, standing at my red letter box. Oh yes, it is mail day today. I was so busy that I forgot. "Good evening to you, Miss Everdeen," he says. "I hope you enjoy the festival. You have anything for me?"

"Yes, just wait a second," I say and go into the kitchen to give him three letters that I wrote before I started to work with Peeta. Two to the government and one for Annie.

"I have something for you as well," he says, "Looks official." He hands me a letter within a soft cream colored envelope. It is sealed with the official seal of the Presidential Office. I can't believe it. I thank Meredith and storm inside. Could it be, could it really be? My official pardon?

It is indeed a letter by Paylor. That is written on the head of the letter. She finally answered. I stare at the envelope in awe. After ignoring me for such a long time, after Plutarch finding a different excuse, a different way to ignore me, this is it! Once and for all. When will I be able to move?

Shaking I take the letter into the kitchen and open it up. It is handwritten, handwritten by the president herself! That's good. I start to read.

_Dear Katniss, _

_I apologize for only being able to answer now, after you've made such an effort to write many letters. Panem will be in your debt eternally and I personally will never forget the role you played in the rebellion. The story of the Mockingjay will be taught in schools for generations to come, honoring your active role in the downfall of the administration of Coriolanus Snow. _

_We issued a request in January for our new grand court to examine your official ask for a pardon and lifting of your banishment to the former District 12. I write this letter to you as I've been sitting in the court meetings - arguing for your case. _

_It grieves me to tell you that you will receive the official rejection of your request and with that the closing of your case in the mail sometime during the next weeks. I was overruled. I did everything in my power to make the jury see that there is no danger or any harm in your leaving the District to live somewhere else._

_The court argued that this was irrelevant. Your banishment to Twelve is not a punishment that can be revoked, it is a pardon in itself for the crime of assassinating the former president and rebel leader Alma Coin. You weren't executed and the court argued that there needed to be some sort of justice for that. Be sure, my dear Katniss, that I strongly disagree. I see no harm in letting you live your life wherever you choose to. But Panem is a democracy now and we decided on a grand court system. The verdict of this court is binding and we all have to abide to it. _

_Naturally you're free to appeal against this verdict. However I do advise against it, as there is a very small chance of a revision of your case. Even then the verdict will presumably be the same. Once more, you have my deepest sympathy and I wish I could have given you a different, positive reply. With this I remain yours sincerely,_

_Deanna Paylor_

I feel a cold numbness seeping through my limbs as the letter falls out of my hands. What I just read can't be true. It is a joke, some sick joke they all are making at my expense. What is that supposed to mean _grand court_? How is this even possible? Why did no one tell me about the examination?

Trembling I stand up and walk slowly over to the telephone. My hands are shaking as I dial Gale's number which I know by heart. He will have the answer, he will know what to do. He has to. My body can't seem to calm down as I wait for Gale to pick up the phone. I've seen my future crumble in front of me too often. My head feels like it is detached from my body as the monotonous ring tone keeps on droning on and on in a seemingly endless cycle of hollowness.


End file.
